Assassin's Creed Republic
by testament5524
Summary: 2 BSC, exiled prince Zuko stumbled upon a legacy of his family beyond his imagination, a legacy that could stave off war and save thousands, or doom the Four Nations. 2017 ASC, Assassin operative Asami Sato uncovered Templars plot that might spell a revolution. The bloody kind of revolution. At the center of it all, a mysterious Piece of Eden.
1. Chapter 1

**Assassin's Creed Republic**

 **Chapter 1 – The Red Spirit**

Disclaimer: I own nothing

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-0-0-(Fire Nation-10 BSC (Before Sozin's Comet))-0-0-

Caldera City was abuzz with celebration. Being the capital of the Fire Nation Capitol, most residents owners were noblemen who would normally be celebrating in the Royal Palace, but this was a special occasion.

The dark figure perching on top of the roof of the pagoda-styled dwelling belonging to the House of Lang remarked to himself that this was probably the first ever in the history of Fire Nation that nobilities and the lowborn that served them mingled together in jubilation. He was up on the tip of the pagoda, eight storey above ground, but his sharp amber eyes caught the sight of the youngest daughter of the House of Ty making out with a footman right there in the middle of the street. The figure chuckled to himself, thanking Agni that Kuzon, the footman, served the House of Lu. It would've been very awkward came morning, when life returned to normal, had he been a servant to the Tys.

The figure leaned back on the protruding tip of the pagoda, easing into a sitting/crouching position. He looked up to the sky, marred with colors and fires of numerous fireworks, set off from the Palace, judging from the angle. He smiled under his dark hood, almost fooling himself into thinking that the peace the people below were celebrating were anything but an illusion it really was. Peace, finally, with the Earth Kingdom.

What a load of bullcrap!

Out of habit, the figure began tugging on his armor – thick leather vest with cleverly camouflaged hidden holster for throwing knives, segmented pauldron over his left shoulder, his belt where more knives and a dagger were hidden, and his hood pulled low on his head. The last thing he checked, as always, was the mechanism fitted to his left bracer; the hidden blade, quintessential for any Assassin.

The red mask of oni he put on, that was not.

The Red Spirit, nimble as a lynx, leaped down the multi tiered roofs of the pagoda, and touched down on the front lawn of the Lang residence. Many noble houses refrained from the city-wide jubilation, despite the fact that the Royal Family had joined in and was at the center of the celebration at the town square, guarded heavily as they enjoyed the festivities from an impromptu viewing box. House of Lang, thankfully, was a young house of nobility and they were quite flexible and not as stuck-up as other older names. The whole family were out on the street, their five young kids were dancing and screaming like banshees while General Lang and his wife watched, laughing, surrounded by the their household staff.

Which was good for the Red Spirit. Their dwelling was empty, save for the horses on the stable.

Soundlessly, he ran up the wall that surrounded the mansion and landed on the back of the dwelling, seamlessly blending with the revelry. Masks were not common at the celebration, but not too uncommon. The young highborns wore domino masks, probably from last month's Autumn Moon Festival, a little bit of protection for their dignities and identities as they mingled with the peasants, perhaps.

None wore full-face mask like him, or hood like him, but no matter. The Assassins had long learned to harness the anonymity afforded to them by the crowd. The best of them could wear a full armor and carry weapons in the open and still blend well into the morning market. The fact is, people are like sheep. They respond to the mundane and the bland, and anything that isn't those would, surprisingly, be ignored by most (unless it was simply too much). So, a little shift here, a little nudge there, and invisibility wasn't too difficult a task when a fully-trained Assassin slipped into the crowd.

Sure, the Red Spirit garnered some curious stare every now and then, but none lasted for more than two seconds. He simply needed to disappeared quickly and he would be nothing but a trick of the light.

A true scare came when a noble lady from the House of Zhang bumped into him. Before he could slipped away, the giggling lady blushed under her domino mask – the Red Spirit smelt alcohol in her breath – and she giggled again. Then, she grabbed him, pushed his mask up a little, and planted a big wet one right on his smackers.

It would have been nice, cause the last time the Red Spirit kissed anyone was… so long ago he couldn't even remember. But Zanna was a sloppy kisser and she was drunk (and tasted like it), and they were never that close to begin with. No, siree! The ever gentlemanly Prince Lu Ten, against his better nature, had even resorted to declaring Zanna, of the House of Zhang, some rather unsavory thing during last year's Winter's Ball, mere days after their engagement were called off. Sure, _he_ had been drunk then, but he stood by what he'd said; what little he remembered of it anyway. The slap the young lady had awarded him for such comment, he thought had been a little unfair. Especially since things sort of turned out well in the end; Zanna had been promptly betrothed to another noble son and Prince Lu Ten became a pariah among the eligible women of the Nation.

In any case, the Red Spirit, fumbling with his mask, pushed the young lady away. Before any recognition could form in the addled mind of the girl, he quickly slipped away. Now wisely choosing the less trodden alley, he moved faster, silently cursing himself for getting all flustered.

And he ran smack onto the back of a big giant of a man.

The man turned around, hooded like him, with a mask covering the lower part of his face. A head taller, a little wider, and looked a lot meaner. Unlike the Red Spirit, this one was an enemy; the pin that secured his hooded cloak was a giveaway, bearing the symbol of the cross.

When fighting a bigger stronger opponent, said the Mentor once, each strike must count and be aimed at vital points. Only a fool would hit on the jaw, chest, or the gut. The Red Spirit, with a knife-hand form, struck on the man's thick neck, right on the neck bump. Chocking, the big man suffered a kick on the crotch. When he bent down, grunting, having the worst day of his life, he suffered an elbow strike on the back of the head that mercifully knocked him out.

The Red Spirit exhaled and straightened his vest unnecessarily.

A session of pat down of the downed enemy agent yielded nothing of interest. A pouch full of coins, to make it look like a simple robbery, sure, but nothing substantial; it only had like six silver pieces anyway. And a cheap dime-a-dozen dagger fitted on the man's belt, the Red Spirit took the whole belt. And his boots. Prince Lu Ten happened to know how piranha-like the street scavengers could be, even here in the Caldera (being an exclusive residential area, the scavengers in the Caldera were the underpaid servants of the noble houses who happened to be out on the street at the right time; this particular time, the potential suspects were endless).

He tossed the boots over the tall wall on his side, trusting the residence to have underpaid servants who wouldn't question their good luck, and resumed his stalking, donning on his new belt.

The crowd on the street was easy enough to blend into and, being in the Caldera, the alleys were empty save for young men and women stealing some moments for themselves. No thugs, which was a small blessing. In five minutes, he found himself lifting up on the top of the constable office, a four-tiered eight-sided pagoda, one of the several buildings framing the square.

He'd wisely chosen to climb the outer side. Perching on the sides facing the square were Imperial Archers, keeping watch over the Royal Family. He counted three on each level of roof.

He took his time to study each group. Alternate stance of one crouching and two standing, or one standing and two crouching. The ones who stood all carried longbows and the ones who crouched had either crossbows or short bows. That was a legit enough sign that those were real Imperial Archers, and not imposters, though the Templars, as resourceful as they were, surely had agents within the Imperial Army.

He did another slow search, looking for any sign – an awkward fidget, a twitch in their bow-drawing hand – and found nothing too alarming. One or two stood out, but they were solitary figures accompanied by steady Imperial Archers. It was not Templar's style to send solo agent; they always had backup muscles and they did not take the risk of being outnumbered.

Satisfied, the Red Spirit climbed down and mingled with the crowd below. He took off the lower part of his detachable mask, keeping the upper part on, and mingled into the square. The large stage where artists performed everyday now housed lively dance performance by the Royal Fire Academy of Art. Fire Lord Azulon and Fire Lady Illah took center spot on the viewing box. On their left, sat Fire Prince Ozai and his family - Lady Ursa, Prince Zuko, and Princess Azula. Lu Ten tried not to smirk when he noticed that Zuko was barely able to contain his excitement and Azula looked thoroughly bored. They were young, after all; Zuko was just about to turn ten.

A shift. The Red Spirit glanced and saw one man in mask not cheering like the rest (even he cheered when the crowd did, which was basic blending technique; this was why the Assassins _always_ beat the Templars when it comes to stealth and subterfuge!). The man was of average enough built that he could easily be mistaken for just another nobleman that he was trying to impersonate – or that he really was since when it comes to Templar agents, you would never know. Red flowing robes with wide sleeves that could be hiding any number of weapons, mask that bore resemblance to a monkey, clean-shaven chin, he really could be anyone. The Red Spirit couldn't even begin to guess from which house this nobleman was supposed to hail.

Still channeling his inner cheering peasant, the Red Spirit inched slowly, _very_ slowly, close to the man. Positioning himself behind the man, he glanced around every now and then, watching out for more enemies, while keeping an eye on the man's lower back and two hands – target and potential danger.

Up on the stage, the Academy's Castrati Choir were wailing a long-drawn tune that marked the end of any Fire Nation folksong, and the dancers formed a circle, looking ready to wrap up their performance. The Red Spirit now focused solely on the back of the man.

True enough, as the performers finished and bowed, the crowd delivered their standing ovation, the nobleman pulled a bamboo tube out of his sleeve. The Red Spirit, thinking the worst, stepped into action. He grabbed the man's left hand, the one that was holding the tube, with his left hand, as if bracing him, while his right hand found the man's side with his hidden blade engaged. A stab to the kidney, enough to shock, enough to bypass pain into numbness, usually not enough to drop the victim.

The man gasped wetly. The Red Spirit grabbed the tube, slipped it inside a pouch on his belt, and, playing a kind bystander, helped guide the nobleman out of the crowd, apologizing to anyone who turned their way that his 'friend' was suddenly feeling faint due to the excitement.

The nobleman's steps grew heavier with each second but the Red Spirit managed to maneuver him out of the square to a nearby empty alley without a hitch. No one would be looking at the trail of blood the nobleman left and thank Agni for Fire Nation's preference for red fabric that hid blood rather well.

Laying down the nobleman, the Red Spirit grabbed the man's collar and pulled him up closer he could feel his dying breath on his face. "You are dying", he whispered. "If you can speak, do so now while you still can. Tell me all you know so you may face Agni with some dignity."

The man, already pale, chocked. And he stilled.

The Red Spirit eased him down and sighed. Closing the man's dead eyes, he whispered. "Follow the Light of Agni and be at peace."

A pat down yielded nothing substantial. A money pouch that he claimed, a Templar ring signifying that the nobleman was a ranked member, and a peek under the mask did not give much. Putting the mask back on, the Red Spirit took out the tube he had claimed earlier.

It was a double segmented bamboo with obvious partition in the middle, a common enough contraption any two-bits craftsmen could make. Usually employed as letter carrier, it had other uses as well; scholars used them to hold penbrush and other stationary, apothecaries used them as containers for cream, salve, or powder. The military though…

The military filled one tube with blasting jelly, fixed with a fuse, and the other held the rest of the fuse between two spark rocks that were fixed inside so that, when pulled, the spark rocks would light the fuse. A portable bomb.

Carefully, the Red Spirit pulled the two segments apart and, as he had suspected, a lit fuse greeted him. Calmly, he pinched the sparked fuse before things got too excited. He quickly dismantled the contraption and found that he was only half right. It was meant to go boom, but it was not a bomb. It was a flare.

Meaning this man had been about to signal his associates.

Meaning the danger had not passed yet.

Blending back into the crowd, the Red Spirit returned to his earlier task of smoking out Templar agents. His mind, in the meantime, analyzed the plan.

The Assassins had received a reliable tip that the Templars were planning something at the celebration of peace treaty tonight, only they didn't know what exactly. Naturally, everyone suspected an assassination attempt on the Royal Family. Not only were they high value target, they were also exceedingly difficult to get. Fire Lord Azulon held court that was open to the nobles only. Fire Lady Illah confined herself to her quarters, a model Fire Nation noblewoman that she was. Lady Ursa and her children occupied their own quarters. None of them ever stepped foot outside the Palace and the paranoid Fire Lord always made sure they were shadowed by the Royal Processions.

Crown Prince Iroh was the Grand General of the Army and was still in the Earth Kingdom, wrapping up the treaty, surrounded by his loyal men and women; so, quite impossible to reach. And Fire Prince Lu Ten? Technically, he was recuperating in his quarters from a wound sustained at the Battle for the Wall, in which General Iroh had finally broken through the mighty Wall of Ba Sing Se.

It had been horrendous. That was where they'd received the information about the Templar's plan. Prince Iroh, Mentor to the Fire Nation Assassins, in his infinite wisdom, had decided to send Lu Ten, Master Assassin and his own son, back to Fire Nation. The story was Lu Ten had been injured quite badly. The horrendous part was that while they had faked the story, they didn't fake the injury. Prince Iroh had reassured Lu Ten that it would be safe, but a knife to the gut is still a knife to the gut. It had hurt.

Now, throwing his hands up in the air as he cheered, Prince Lu Ten racked his brain as he assessed the potential plan. The entire Royal Family – a significant part of it, at least – was out in the open. They were prime target, definitely. They were surrounded by Royal Processions, Fire Nations finest warriors, and Imperial Archers ringed the square. Whatever they planned, whoever were supposed to carry it out, they were not getting out of this alive.

The Templar Lu Ten had neutralized was supposed to give signal only, which was obvious since he had not even been armed. Lu Ten looked around, calculating in his mind; if the flare had gone up, who would have seen it amidst the excitement and the fireworks? Well, many people… too many to consider.

So, focus back on the (potential) targets. The Royal Family were there, well-guarded. Spread on their right and left were the nobles, the males on the right and the females on the left; Fire Nation might not be as much of a stickler to tradition as the Earth Kingdom or Water Tribe, but when the Fire Lord was on scene, the rules were observed to the letters.

The Red Spirit considered the high nobles for a moment; maybe they were the target. But, no. The nobles were seated on rows of chairs, spaced enough to allow each to have a couple of personal bodyguards to stand behind them. It would be easy for Zhao, Naval Commander and Grand Master of the Templar, to stage an assassination of any nobleman right there and then using his bodyguards; he could definitely take a hit himself in the process and then just denied all knowledge of it. Simple.

And had been done before by Admiral Chan, another Templar, who had gotten away with it. The low ranking fanatic was a soldier under his command, and though not so much, but he had died doing what he believed in so he must have died happy. Hanged to death after a hundred lashes, but happy.

In the viewing box, the commanders of the Royal Processions and the Rose Guards – Fire Lady Illah's personal all-female army – accompanied the royals, armed and armored, and scanning the crowd and surrounding for any sign of dangers. They made a formidable layer of protection, sure, but a crossbow or portable bomb from where Zhao sat would have reached the Fire Lord easily.

It simply didn't make sense. The more the Red Spirit thought about it, the less clear the Templar's objectives became.

Them targeting the Royal Family had been a conjecture. But, if the Royal Family were not the target, then who was?

The signal was supposed to be lit up here, from the crowd, seen by pretty much the entire gathering here. And then… what?

The nobles? Even if Zhao were to pull 'my-armed-bodyguard-went-berserk-and-I-have-knothing-to-do-with-it' maneuver, whoever his target was also had bodyguards with them and the Red Spirit was sure that Zhao had taken into consideration that they would cut him down in retaliation before he could deny any involvement.

The crowd? Those living in Caldera were either members of the noble houses and those serving them. The celebrating crowd were either servants or younger members of the nobilities who were not worthy enough to sit so close to the Fire Lord. It was hard to consider them as targets, unless the Templar's aim was to cause panic. But, if so, why the flare? A bomb would do the trick. Unless the dead nobleman had been spineless enough to sacrifice his life for the cause.

Scanning the crowd once more, the Red Spirit looked for _different_ targets. This time, he found them easier: there was the butler from the House of Wu, the servant girl from the House of Li, the two footmen who served the House of Lu. The Red Spirit stopped once he spotted the middle daughter of the Tys. If Young Lady Ty and the Wu butler were here, they would be sure to bring their teams; that alone meant that at least a dozen Assassins were here among the crowd. If the flare had meant to signal a physical assault, there would be casualties, sure, but, even if the soldiers were incapacitated or occupied, the people would not be undefended for long.

And so, he left.

-0-0-0-0-0-

The celebration was still going strong in the city. The Royal Family, for the first time in decades, had left the Royal Palace to join the citizens (the upper class, but still) in celebrating peace after decades of war with the Earth Kingdom. They might call it a treaty, but, for all intents and purposes, it was a subjugation.

The Wall of Ba Sing Se had been breached. The Earth King, a naïve young boy-man whose compassion outweighed his negligible political savvy, had called for truce almost immediately and signed the treaty almost without checking the terms. History would record that the Earth King had been lucky it was Crown Prince Iroh, a shrewd but reasonable compassionate politician, he had been in dealing with. Any other Fire Nation war commanders would've called for total subjugation.

Prince Iroh let the Earth Kingdom save some face and not a small amount of dignity. The details of the treaty had not yet been made public knowledge, but the story of how Prince Lu Ten led the assault on the Wall and was vital to its defeat had spread like wildfire. The young Prince had come home to a fanfare and the Fire Lord himself had led the procession to accept his arrival at the Royal Plaza. Much tears were shed among the females, which culminating in Fire Lady Illah taking over the processions with her Rose Guards and Lu Ten, while fit enough to walk, confined to an armored palanquin and escorted back to the Palace by a contingent of the deadliest female warriors.

Not that he was complaining.

Upon his return, his injuries had gotten worse that he couldn't join the festivities in the streets; a story further corroborated by the Palace Physician, a woman of great medical talent and an ally to the Assassins.

In any case, there was no mistaking Lu Ten's heroic reputation now. There had been talk that, now that the war had virtually ended, Prince Iroh would retire and focus more on politics. There were rumors about the senior General Lu or the rising General Jiang being considered as his replacement as the Grand General of the Army. Lu Ten, who obviously was due for at least a promotion, would also be put in a very high place in the army.

The Templars who fared in politics would face Iroh soon and Lu Ten would eventually become Iroh's most trusted agent within the military, and maybe his replacement one day. The Templar's agenda might still be mystery, but their aim was always power. The Fire Nation government would ensure that the Templars would never be a Fire Lord, unless they somehow turned someone from the bloodline of Agni to their cause.

Which would never happen as long as Iroh was around.

And the Templars _had_ tried to get to Iroh. General Shinu's attempt to persuade him to join the Templars had gotten him banished to the colonies; _Colonel_ Shinu now led Pohuai Stronghold and had not stepped foot in Fire Nation soil for nearly two decades. Numerous attempts on Iroh's life had been foiled and the Templars had stopped trying since the Assassins had nonverbally declared that Iroh was under their protection by retaliating mercilessly each time the Templars tried to kill Iroh.

Of course, no one utilized secret identities like Iroh. The Templars didn't even know that the Crown Prince was the Assassin Mentor.

And they certainly did not know that Lu Ten was an Assassin himself.

It all made sense to him now.

Their target was Iroh, Lu Ten was sure. Well, by proxy.

Crown Prince Iroh was very fond of his son, it was no secret. To get to Iroh directly would be suicide, with the security around him and the Assassins protecting him. The only way to hurt the Crown Prince would be by hurting Lu Ten.

And, as the Red Spirit lay soundlessly under the blanket in Prince Lu Ten's bed, Iroh had fallen into a trap.

The information they had intercepted had been orchestrated masterfully to prompt Iroh to send Lu Ten home. And now, back in Fire Nation, the security around Lu Ten would be more lax; even more so now the celebration was ongoing. The Royal Family had taken most of the retainers and guards with them, leaving only skeleton crew in the Palace. And the flare, the Red Spirit thought in hindsight, could have been seen anywhere, even from the Palace. It might cause panic among the crowd or be mistaken as fireworks. Either way, it would signal the opportune time to strike at him.

Which was why, Lu Ten had entrusted it to a fellow Assassin he had met in the crowd. The Assassin would give Lu Ten thirty minutes to sneak back into the Palace, do a quick sweep (which yielded nothing), and prepared a trap of his own. He could not involve the Palace Guards or it would be suspicious.

And finally the time came. He had doused all lighting in his room, leaving the room dark. Light spilling from his slowly opening door was impossible to ignore. Calmly, he prepared himself to pull the pin of his incendiary grenade. He waited until he heard the rasp of blade leaving its scabbard before he threw off the blanket and toss the grenade to the dark room.

The crack of the explosion was deafening and the flame that came after illuminated the sight of three men in dark masked and hooded garb. The would-be killer closest to him was caught by the flame. He ended up screaming and rolling in the burning carpet.

The Red Spirit leaped like a tiger over the burning killer and slammed his hidden blade on the second killer's throat, bringing him down. The third killer overcame his surprise and lashed with his short saber. The Red Spirit dodged, blocked the second strike by the killer's wrist with his bracer, and smoothly drew his dagger from his waist and slashed the killer's gut with one stroke. He ended with a kick that sent the killer sprawling on the floor.

He pounced at the killer, ready to interrogate. However, the half-opened door was kicked open and a group of Palace Guards spilled in.

Now, while Prince Lu Ten was relieved to see them, the Red Spirit was not. The interrogation would have to wait, provided they didn't just kill the wounded killer on the spot and sent for medical help at once (he could question the killer later in jail).

For a split second, Lu Ten was tempted to just unmask himself and spin a lie about knowing about the attempt on his life and he was ambushing his ambushers and the unusual armor he was wearing being a special kind of armor or a new model. Sadly, as he threw an obscuring smoke bomb, leaped to the other side of the room, and made his escape through the window, the Red Spirit was a well-known vigilante.

His father would do anything to keep him out of jail, sure, and his doting grandmother would ask for leniency and even spin his deeds as somewhat heroic, but there was no way in freaking hell the Fire Lord would let this go. After all, there was that one time when the Red Spirit sabotaged a supply chain that resulted in the Siege of Tianshui being called off; sure, the Templars had arranged for the supply to be stolen and added to their own arsenal and the Red Spirit had beaten them to it, but the Fire Lord didn't know _that_.

And then, thought the Red Spirit as he scaled down the Palace, there was the Senlin Incident that scorched miles of forest. Oh, and the skirmish in Mo Ce Sea where the Red Spirit might have caused a fleet of homeland patrol boats to get lost in a storm. And let's not forget the Omashu debacle, which ended with the city's complete isolation and Fire Nation Army having to contend with only forming perimeter around the now-unreachable city. All had been to thwart the Templars, sure, but nobody except for the Assassins knew that.

As he ran across the hallway of the Palace, he simply had to admire the tenacity of the Palace Guards, if not the accuracy of their archery skills. Ducking low, he threw another smoke bomb at his feet at an intersection. Guards trampled into the smoke and found nothing. They dispersed and headed into all possible exits.

The Red Spirit, perching on the horizontal beams above the hallway, waited with bated breath. When he could no longer see the light dancing from the Guards' lanterns, he dropped and snuck deeper into the Palace.

The Red Spirit ran calculation in his head. Returning to his room would be impossible; with three intruders and a small fire, it would be crawling with Palace Guards. Worse, now that Lu Ten wasn't in his room like he was supposed to, the Guards were bound to be looking for him to make sure he was okay. He needed to get out of the Red Spirit outfit, but he didn't have clothes anywhere else.

Several ideas came to mind. Royal Bathhouse was plausible if Lu Ten hadn't been stabbed on the gut and such wound certainly should not get wet. He silently cursed his father for that; they should've just played the 'paranoid dad' card and left him with only his genuine dislocated shoulder injury. The Infirmary, Lu Ten shook his head as he skulked across the hallway. Head Physician Azaya was surely accompanying the Royal Family and Lu Ten was not sure if her medical minions knew of the Assassins.

His other option was the training grounds. It was the farthest but the most probable. The training grounds were never guarded and there'd be some fresh training garbs there that he could change into and he could hide his gears somewhere. When the Palace Guards finally found him, Prince Lu Ten could have been having trouble sleeping, a fortunate coincidence, and had been doing some training to calm his mind. Archery, perhaps. He _was_ injured.

It sounded good enough.

The Red Spirit nearly ran into some patrol groups twice but he kept to the shadows and had some knowledge of the hidden servants' passageways – expertly hidden false walls and walkways that enabled servants to be ever-present. Thanks to his training, he made it to the training grounds safely.

He snuck into the locker room, quickly shed off his gears and hid it in one of the lockers, and put on a simple training he garb he found over his undershirt. He was just about to grab a bow from the armory wall next to the locker when the door to the open-roofed grounds were pushed open by a stampede. Smoothly, Lu Ten made it as if he was returning his bow. He even threw in a surprised look.

He hoped his sweatiness would cover for the fact that there wasn't a single spent arrow anywhere down the shooting range.

The group that entered flashed a dozen lanterns held by a dozen Palace Guards.

"Stand down!" Lu Ten boomed; lesson number one when incognito as a Prince and he was about to get caught doing something or covering for something: project authority by shouting. "What is going on here?"

The group promptly fell to their knees. The man leading them, the only one not in armor, was a tall and thin man in red robes. Master Kunyo, the Imperial Martial Instructor, bowed lower down on his one-kneed position. Normally, they would be required to go full kowtow, but it was an emergency and the one-knee position was permissible. Prince Lu Ten, of course, did not know there was an emergency and he managed to look bewildered and offended.

Master Kunyo, always a theatrical man, was strangely level-headed when he explained the situation to the Prince. There was a killer on the loose, targeting him.

"You are lucky you weren't there, Your Highness", said Master Kunyo after he seconded the Prince's protest that the Guards were to remain with him. The Master reassured them that the Prince would be fine with him around.

"Of course", Lu Ten grumbled. He never liked Master Kunyo, not after little Zuko broke his arm during a training with him. "I will be fine on my own and I would like to shoot some more targets after I cool down. Don't worry about me, Master. I'll be fine", he turned his back on the man. Another lesson from his father: a royalty rebuffs with gesture more than with words.

"May I ask why His Highness is practicing archery without lighting any torches?"

Lu Ten had hoped Master Kunyo wouldn't notice that they would have been standing in complete darkness if not for the two lanterns that two of the Palace Guards, that had insisted to stay on guard by the door, were carrying.

The Prince sniffed and turned a fraction, projecting haughtiness. "I was practicing archery for nighttime situation. It sounds trivial, but it's a specialized skill", and he left it at that without adding _'cause I've been to the war and I know what I'm talking about'_. Yet another lesson from his father: a royalty flaunts, but does not boast.

In all the effort to project Fire Prince Lu Ten, sadly he forgot that he was also an Assassin. Turning his back on Master Kunyo had been a mistake, the last one he would ever make.

Lu Ten gasped when Master Kunyo pulled the knife out. It felt surreal when his arms fell to his side, dangling uselessly, and he felt that tingling sensation of life fleeing his limbs. His knees buckled and he fell. He felt nothing but the sharp pain on his lower back, he felt his life fleeing out from the gaping bloody hole that must have opened there.

He had been arrogant. Too arrogant, even for a Prince.

He felt cold floor on his cheek and the last thing he saw was the feet of Master Kunyo retreating, the Master heading to the door where the two Palace Guards were waiting.

Then, he felt nothing.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2 – Triple Threat**

Disclaimer: I own nothing

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-0-0-(Republic City- January 2017 ASC(After Sozin's Comet))-0-0-

Asami gasped when she woke up. Then she groaned.

Shoulders stiff, neck strained, black wavy hair on her face. Groaning louder, her arms wandered around. She felt strangely naked.

Probably because, somehow, she was not wearing any pants.

Her pillows were strewn along the floor. Her blanket was barely hanging on at the foot of her bed. Her tank top were pulled up, exposing her midriff to the cold morning. Her shorts were MIA. Naturally, she suspected Korra; her analytical mind did not even give a chance for her to worry for her virtue since she knew that she was in her own room, in her apartment. Rubbing tired olive-green eyes, sitting up and pulling her blanket to cover her bare bottom, she checked her door. The deadbolt was on.

So, not Korra. Her roommate had a strange sense of humor from time to time. Few months ago, Asami had woken up holding an optimistically-sized male genitalia made of rubber, courtesy of Korra; coincidentally, she started sleeping with her door locked right about then. Plopping back down, Asami tried hard to remember her dream, all the while wondering how the _heck_ her shorts could have gotten away from her during the night.

Her head was foggy. She'd gotten to sleep earlier than usual last night, almost normal people's schedule. She remembered waking up briefly when Korra came home and went through the front door. And before that, she remembered the cup ramen she had had for dinner. And nothing much else. She couldn't even remember work yesterday.

Two minutes of lying around, she was finally wide awake. Sighing, she decided to get up before the delicious rubbing of the blanket on her lower part deviated her morning. She showered and, clad in a bathrobe, dragged her feet out of her room.

She found Bolin passed out in her couch.

That explained the unusually heavy footsteps last night.

It was a testament to how lousy Asami felt this morning that she did not even wonder why Bolin, who was wearing only boxers, was covered in tribal tattoos all over up to his face. There would be time to demand explanation later, starting from why Bolin was _here_ , but now Asami needed coffee.

But, of course, she was out of coffee. Korra's stash of some strange water Tribe coffee was sitting there on its jar, but Asami was not very fond of it – Asami had tried some and found it strangely salty, Korra had said she'd brewed it wrong. Next to it, an old cut out box of cereal that contained Korra's packets of instant coffee.

Now, Asami might be a lowly lecturer and occasional high-school science tutor, but she was born into the privileged society; not only with a silver spoon in her mouth, but the entire set of silver cutlery. If not for years and years of friendship with Korra, Mako, and Bolin, she would have snobbishly closed the pantry door and turned her nose up at the instant coffee.

While the water boiled in the kettle, she made her way to Korra's room across the living room from hers and knocked on the door. "Korra", she called miserably. "Morning."

A single long grunt sounded and Asami took it as permission to open the door a crack. A large furry dog came out from inside the room and sniffed Asami's hand as a greeting. Asami scratched Naga behind her ear and returned to the kitchen, leaving the giant dog to terrorize Bolin.

Ignoring Bolin's screaming and the sound of something falling, Asami prepared three cups of coffee. Korra came out of her room, as haggard as Asami felt inside, when Asami made her way to her own room, ruffling Bolin's hair along the way. She got out fifteen minutes later, resplendent in a dark pantsuit and crisp white shirt, to the smell of Korra cooking eggs and bacons. Bolin was face down on the dining table – which was a small round table one would normally find in an outdoor café, the only kind their tiny apartment could afford – with Naga, the affectionate white furry beast, licking his toes.

Flipping eggs, Korra asked as Asami sat down. "Bad dream?" she transferred some bacons onto a plate. "I heard you last night."

"Can't remember", Asami winced at her first sip of coffee. "But, must've been. My bed went nuclear. Pillows everywhere."

Korra chuckled but did not ask further.

"Do I wanna ask?" Asami frowned at Bolin over the rim of her cup.

"Later", Korra put a plate for Bolin and fanned the scent of eggs and bacons towards the boy. "You could use the laugh."

Bolin gasped and rose. "Bacons", he dug in.

Asami and Korra, as they sat down, ready for breakfast, stiffened. They suddenly realized what must happen. An intense stare later, green versus blue, they began eating fast. Asami won and hastily said her goodbye, running to the door with her purse. Still smirking, she tidied up her hair, thanking her luck that she wouldn't have to give Bolin a ride today.

Their apartment was described as rustic by those with optimism. Perching on a suburb of Republic City, the slightly crooked and decrepit townhouse-turned-apartment had two storey, four apartments. And no parking zone. Asami parked her car in a public parking lot down the street.

The lot was a large space surrounded by fence, headed by a single portal with a currently unmanned guard post. It was not unusual, but it didn't mean Asami enjoyed opening the portal herself. As she let the metal bar rise, a rough hand grabbed her shoulder and spun her around.

The man's breath was more dangerous than the small knife he held to Asami's face. "Purse and keys! Now!" he wheezed. "And then, you and me, we gonna have some fun! Get it?"

Asami was not impressed. "Uh huh", she managed before she kicked the man right into the guard post. Calmly, she stepped in and closed the door behind her.

A couple minutes later, the door was opened and she stepped out. Tidying up her hair, she adjusted the strap of her purse and checked the content of the drunk's wallet as she made her way to her car. The fifty yuans she found would pay for her lunch – the man was a drunk, not a bum, and he could afford to lose some money – and the ID and driver's license, she would maybe ask her assistant to send to Mako.

She got in her car and drove out, feeling better about her day. There was something about hitting people who deserved it that was just so… refreshing. Guess it was true what people say: you cannot take the vigilante out of the Assassin.

-0-0-0-0-0-

Mako arrived late to lunch to Bolin's applause and the girls' groan. Winning their daily bet, Bolin ordered cheesecake for himself. Asami pushed a ten yuans bill towards him and picked up her drink. Officer Mako of the RCPD took off his uniform hat and Asami braced herself.

"So…" Mako started. "I got an interesting delivery today."

"Oh?" Asami tried to look innocent.

"It came from the University", Mako deadpanned.

"Yay?"

"Asami!"

Asami groaned. "What? Way I see it, I did you a favor. I did your job for you. Wow, now that I think about it, cops in this city are—"

"The guy's wrists were broken", Mako said. "He's got concussion, lost six teeth, and he won't stop blubbering since he wakes up. And you didn't leave any sign _you_ were there at all."

"What can I say? I'm awesome."

" _How_ the hell did you that?"

"Played a lot of video games? You'd be surprised how much you can learn from them."

Bolin sat straighter. "Hey, can I borrow your—"

"No", came from Korra and Asami. "We have a tourney this weekend to determine who gets to vacuum", Korra explained.

"And speaking of vacuums", Asami smirked, nudging Bolin with her elbow. "Spill."

Bolin tugged on his hoodie lower over his head. "I joined a gang."

Five minutes later, after the girls stopped laughing themselves silly.

"It's this new sci-fi movie", Bolin explained. "I play alien gangster who invade Republic City."

"Didn't they make something like that already?" Mako frowned.

"It's a franchise."

-0-0-0-0-0-

Asami put down her glasses and leaned back on the couch. "You'd think people who graduated from high school have better spelling than this", she fought the urge to toss the paper she was grading to the coffee table and put it off tomorrow. "I mean, listen to this—"

"I'm gonna stop you right there", Korra put her foot down – well, Asami's foot; she was polishing her toenails. "Girl, it's too early in the week for any sciencey talk."

Asami chuckled and looked the other girl over. Athletic, tall, well-toned limbs, yet pretty with warm caramel skin and bright blue eyes. Sitting there in blue tank top and shorts, it was hard to imagine Korra Waters as an attaché to the Southern Water Tribe Ambassador to the Republic. Korra looked more like the head security to said Ambassador.

"You've got a date tonight?" Asami asked. Korra blew a raspberry, further trampling upon the class she hailed from (daughter of a Tribal Chief, basically a state governor). Asami wondered if that was why they were such good friends; two peas in a pod.

"Why? You're setting me up with your student again?" the last time that happened, the result had been rather disastrous. Lee had ended up dropping Asami's class mid-semester.

Their front door was opened and Mako walked in, prompting the girls to throw their hands in the air and screamed. "Donuts!"

"Still not funny", Mako scratched Naga's ear as he made a beeline to the bathroom with his bag. Five minutes later, he was out of his police uniform, comfy in sweats and shirt, and his ever-present scarf. "Where's Bolin?"

"Running late", Korra went back to Asami's toes. "They're shooting a night scene. The aliens are supposed to touch down in this one. Bolin said something about being hooked to wires then thrown off a building?"

"So, Mako, how's work?" Asami smirked.

" _Well_ , the drunk that _someone_ beat up and left down the street from here, yeah… he turned out to be the nephew of some big shot Navy Commander."

Asami winced.

"And he's filing assault charges against whoever beat him up and stole his wallet", Mako narrowed his eyes. "Say, Asami, however could some random staff member from your work find his ID?"

"Uh… he picked it up on the ground?" Asami hoped her smile was convincing.

"You left partial print on it", Mako said flatly. "I took care of it."

Asami deflated visibly.

"Wanna tell me about it?"

Channeling her inner regal aristocrat, Asami said. "I will tell you that this street needs more police presence. Drunks everywhere."

"You're lucky this time", Mako said gruffly. "He has a car in the same lot and there's a gun in the glove compartment. Fortunately, he was too drunk to get there before he got to you."

"Found drugs, too?" Korra asked interestedly. "Contrabands? Illegal porn? Pirated DVDs?"

"No, just empty bottles and some weird ring", Mako slouched, picking up the TV remote.

That got Asami's attention. "What ring?"

"Gold band with red center. Got a cross on it", Mako flipped the channels. "In any case, Asami, no more beating up drunks, okay?"

Their stare held for a few more seconds. Until Korra asked the impertinent question. "Who's cooking dinner?"

-0-0-0-0-0-

Bolin had called that he wouldn't make it to the delicious baked potatoes and spaghetti and meatballs Mako had whipped up from whatever had been lying around the fridge of the two privileged girls who were still learning how to fend for themselves in the big city (after four years, anyone would think Asami and Korra would've had learnt that to keep their fridge well-stock, _one of them_ had to go shop for grocery). Calling it early, Asami had gone to bed before Mako went home, carrying Bolin's dinner in a lunchbox.

As usual, the 'waiting' was the worst part of nights like this: When Asami went to bed early and waited for half an hour just in case someone came and checked on her. Last time that happened, Korra had called the cops and Asami, after she snuck back in, had spun a lie about emergency call from the university (that turned out to be a prank) and she had, in a fit of impulsivity, jumped out her room window (literally) instead of taking the few extra seconds that would be required to navigate through the living room and go out the front door. It was truly a test of their strength of their friendship that Korra bought that. Thankfully, the cop Korra had called was Mako.

And there she waited, sitting cross-legged impatiently on her bed, staring at the clock on her wall, willing the tock to tick faster. It took all her willpower not to rip off her sleeping shirt and shorts, and get into her night outfit.

Patience, the weapon an Assassin must keep the sharpest.

It didn't stop her from opening the hidden space she had carved out of the side of her box-spring and taking out the bundle that contained her gears. She unfolded the deceptively innocent Pokémon blanket and lay out her stuff on her bed. A pair of dark leather boots with slightly raised heels (because the World is run by sadistic male entities with unhealthy fixation on the female buttock) with cleverly hidden plating between folds on the shins, dark tight trousers that looked trendy enough to wear on the streets and still afforded real mobility, plain cotton shirt that Asami got from a random store, and a leather jacket with strips of Kevlar stitch under the front and a plate of it in the back with the Republic Assassins insignia – regular Assassins symbol with a small Republic insignia tucked between the lower prongs – on the cuffs of the sleeves, and a small outline of the White Lotus symbol on the collar.

And her weapons, the ubiquitous hidden blades fitted under a pair of stiff leather bracers thin enough to pass for big punk rock cuffs; a pair of gloves with solid padding on the inside of the palms and the outside was tear-resistant, liquid absorbent layers; belt with small pouches where she kept tiny breakable glass globes of chemicals, small marble-sized bombs, and extra clips for the small Walther PPK she had holstered at the back of the belt.

Wearing her Assassins gears, Asami could pass for a low level Goth or a _Black Widow_ cosplayer if no one asked about the hood (strangely, no one _ever_ asked about the hood). The last fifteen minutes, she spent staring at her gears while reciting her syllabus in her head (and realizing, with a slight panic, that she hadn't prepared the midterm questions yet, which was due for submission and evaluation in two days). When the time finally came, she nearly leaped at the jacket and bracers like a rabid child in a toy store.

-0-0-0-0-0-

Running through the rooftops never failed to give Asami that flush. That rush.

Like the aftereffect of weeds that she did _not_ smoke when she'd been an eighteen years old PhD who had just started teaching at Republic University of Science and Technology (anyone who called it RUST to a proud members of the University could count of getting a smack in the face) and was sort of tricked into it by her students who were mostly the same age as her because she wanted to be liked. Running through rooftops gave high adrenaline rush that mellowed quickly into a serene clarity of mind. Her inner geek liked to think that this was her superpower; metabolizing adrenaline into brain juice?

She dropped into an empty alley and pushed back the hoods of her jacket and her coat; an outer coat that dropped to her knees. Her coat she could button up to hide her outfit and it came with pockets and its own hood, and the Republic Assassins insignia carved on the buttons. She had tied her hair into a low ponytail and it draped over her left shoulder. A simple dark chocker circled her neck.

Hugging herself, playing an average Republic girl out clubbing or something, she whipped out her phone and did a little research. By research, of course, it meant Asami was hacking into the RCPD database with her Assassins-issued smart phone.

Modern Republic Assassins operated on an organizational system that was based on a system pioneered by the less-known Assassin Opia Apito; her 'ghost bureau' protocol (the fact that the Caribbean Assassin's name was listed with less than impressive note, despite being a bureau leader, was a testament to her system). The Republic Assassins didn't have an established headquarters or any knowledge of who their Mentor was or even any semblance of structures – apart from the traditional master-trainee and bureau leader-operatives systems, and some unknown 'overlord' figure who controlled their communication and network, who arranged their positioning, fake ID's if needed, mediation with the local law enforcers, and doled out the occasional missions – but, judging from some of the high-tech equipment and gears an Assassins might unexpectedly find in their domiciles, the Republic chapter must have a high-tech R&D establishment somewhere, doling out chemical concoctions, explosives, gadgets, strange guns and ammos, and many other doodads like some R-rated Santa's workshop.

Asami had an advanced degree in engineering and she was a genius when it comes to machines. Computer sciences were way above her skill set, but the smart phone she was using was equipped with numerous hacking apps developed by the Assassins, the kind the public would _never_ know about. Asami remembered her fellow Assassin initiate joking about it; she'd said that it was entirely possible that the Assassins had a cure for cancer and was holding it as potential bargaining chip for any future complications with the government.

Not true, of course… ;-)

The police database search yielded the basic information: name (Rik 'Gripper' Ling Wak), age (27), gender (male), address (12/1 Orchid St., Nera Hill District), crime (public intoxication, firearm possession), notable affiliation (Triple Threat Triad, which was new info, and he was listed as a nephew of Admiral Lu Sano of the Republic Navy). Under others, the arresting officer (Mako) had listed the car he had parked in the lot, the gun found in the glove compartment, and the guy's previous record, and the tip that led to the arrest.

The truly useful bit of information Asami had gotten was the precise location of the drunk's cell. A little further check and Asami encountered the first snag in her mission; the Gripper shared a cell with two other criminals undergoing the same process as he, and one of them was a rapist (rapists gave her the willies, which was natural, and she always felt this urge to stab them repeatedly in the throat when she met one).

Resisting the urge to memorize the rapist's face, she did not need the temptation, Asami marched into the crowd, hailing a cab.

-0-0-0-0-0-

Perching on top of a donut shop across the street from the RCPD Headquarters, Asami pulled her hood low against the light drizzle falling off the Republic City's night sky. This wouldn't be the first time she had broken into the RCPD and she doubted it'd be her last. Times like this, Asami never failed to crack a small smile.

She often wondered what her sixteen-year-old self would think if that girl could see her now. At sixteen, she had been all about finishing her PhD project so she could join her dad's company and together they would conquer the automobile world. And maybe she could do professional racing on the side just to annoy her dad; she had contemplated street racing, but her dad had never annoyed her _that_ much.

And yet, as soon as she'd got her degree, she had packed her bags and gone to visit her grandmother in Fire Nation, only to get herself into this whole Assassins-Templars business.

And she would have no regret.

 _"Where other men blindly follow the truth, remember…"_

"Nothing is true", Asami whispered. She would _never_ again embrace the ignorance.

From her position, she couldn't see the top of the Headquarters; the building being the tallest around the block, sitting smack center and surrounded by wide lawn and road. However, the rooftop hatch should still be accessible. Their contacts within the police would have informed the Bureau should such pertinent asset was no longer viable.

And the only way to check was to break into the HQ through the other entry point: the sewer.

-0-0-0-0-0-

The United Republic of Nations had started as a 'shared state' between Fire Nation and Earth Kingdom, and it ended up declaring independence after decades of rallying support among Fire Nation officials and preparing its military and infrastructure. The Republic Independence War had been rather bloody and, surprise surprise, triggered by the Templar who would have used it as a reason to subjugate Republic territories into Earth Kingdom.

The Assassins had sided with the Republic and suffered great loss. Officially, to the Templar's knowledge anyway, the Templars had lost the War, but defeated the Assassins soundly and kept a pressure on the remnants ever since; for the past seventy years, they had been under the impression that Republic Assassins were no more than a dozen or so operatives who kept fighting the good fight but as free agents, independent from each other, too weak to organize. They might have been right, regarding the number of the Assassins, to be fair, but very very wrong about the Assassins being no more than unorganized rabbles.

Asami, unlike most initiates from the Republic, had been trained in Fire Nation by Fire Nation Assassins, but she knew that her Master was a Republic Assassin – the man had come back to the Republic after her initiation with her on the same flight and introduced her to some key people within the Republic network. However, the practice of Republic initiates being inducted into the Order by the Fire Nation Mentor was so common that they were under the impression that the Republic chapter was either under the management of the Fire Nation chapter or was a branch of it; the secret of the ghost bureaus protocol was shared only to full-fledged Assassins.

That was why, according to her master, the Order's presence in the Republic, while strong, was a well-contained secret. For example, the Templars had been trying to set a foothold on Kyoshi Island, hence controlling a lucrative piece of land rife with tourism potential, but had been unable to do so due to several problems: the whole island being declared Important Cultural Heritage at a very inconvenient moment (and their member in the Republic Council who could've reversed it had suddenly died horribly in a freak yacht accident), the islanders whom they had spent countless of man-hour to charm and guile into selling their properties suddenly changed their minds and rejected any further attempt to renegotiate, the media suddenly picked up on stories about how Kyoshi Island was an important piece of cultural heritage, yada yada, and so should not be corporatized.

All that bore Republic Assassins' invisible handprint.

So was the vast network of tunnels under the City.

The two council members who had proposed the construction of the tunnels, the advisor to the president at the time who had sold the idea, and Iwa Nishi, the City Architect at the time before the War, all had been members of the Order. The tunnel itself had been instrumental in the urban guerilla at the earlier stage of the Independence War when the Earth Kingdom forces had overwhelmed the Republic Army and occupied the City for a few harrowing months before reinforcement from Fire Nation and Water Tribe arrived.

It was possible to navigate the entire Republic City through the tunnels and they connected to important buildings and most dwellings that dated back to the time before the Independence War, which counted for more than 80% of the current infrastructure.

Sadly, being autumn, it rained a lot and the tunnel smelled musty and rather wet.

Entering the basement of the RCPD HQ, Asami wondered if she could sell to Korra that Naga pooped in her room, hence the smell. Shrugging, eyes scanning the dark archives room, she just hoped that Korra wouldn't find out that she was out at all.

Crouching in the dark, Asami fished out her phone and made a single call, and hung up at the second ring. She waited.

Two minutes later, the door to the archives was opened by an old janitor. The small hunched man let Asami out before he locked the door.

"Hi, Bob", Asami smiled awkwardly. "How're the grandkids?"

Bob the janitor grunted something.

"So… uh… elevator?" Asami cleared her throat.

Bob led her to the service elevator and, with a swipe of his employee card, unlocked the buttons. Asami pressed one and gave Bob a tiny wave as the elevator door closed.

She blew out a breath and pushed down her hood, patting her hair to tidy it. The elevator stopped and she stepped out.

There were two cells in the room, one processing office with a couple of guards in it, and, lying on a cot, was her target. And the rapist inmate she would try not to kill and had tried not to memorize… yeah, the moron perked up like a dog when she entered and totally made himself stand out. Seriously, he was asking to be killed.

Ignoring the wolf-whistle and lewd suggestion that she should take off her coat and show 'a little something something', Asami flashed her most charming smile at the officers as she headed to the office. One of the officers walked out to the receptionist window to greet her. "Yes?"

"Hi— aahhh!" and Asami fell like a klutz. "Oww! My ankle!"

"Oh, God", the guard hurried to the door while his buddy, who had been sitting on a chair reading a comic, looked up interestedly.

"Oww…" Asami sniffled, already with a small glass globe of chloroform subtly held in her hand. "It hurts…"

"Are you alright, miss?" the officer crouched next to her. "Can you stand?" Sir Gallant held her elbow. "Here, let me help", his other hand circled around and found Asami's other elbow. Asami actually admired him not taking advantage and would hate what she had to do next.

With the officer's help, she stood up and checked the other officer; he was still in the office, peering out the receptionist window. As Asami and the first officer hobbled to the office, the second officer moved to the closed door. When the second officer got behind the door, his field of view obstructed, Asami cried out to mask the sound of cracking glass from the globe she grasped and broke, and went down, dragging the first officer with him. The first officer had not anticipated it and was slightly unbalanced. Asami dropped the damp wad of corn-silk-covered-glass and shoved her chloroformed palm to the man's face.

Pushing the unconscious man off of her, Asami shrieked like a murder victim. "Oh my gosh! Help! Quick! He just fainted! Does he have a heart condition? Is he having a heart attack?"

"Miss, it's okay. Please calm down and stay where you are", the second officer knelt down to check on his buddy's breathing. When he leaned to put his ear on top of the other man's mouth, Asami grabbed his other ear and yanked, unbalancing him, spinning him on his back, and pressed her still slightly chloroformed gloved hand on his face too.

Sighing, she put her hood back on and sat up, dusting herself, rubbing the residue of the chloroform on the side of her boot. The two officers made an interesting sight; both on their backs, one was lying on the other's chest, forming a T.

Which reminded Asami of the next step of her mission. She crouched low, picking up the wad of corn-silk covered glass she'd dropped and ignoring the criminals' inquiry, staying low behind the office's lower wall, and snuck inside. Keeping herself out of sight, not that it mattered much at this point, she raided the filing cabinets inside the small office. She found the paper record of Rik Ling Wak and scanned it for extra tidbits that didn't make it to the digital version, and found a bag containing his personal effect.

She tore the bag open and went straight for the gold ring.

She hadn't found this ring on him that morning (not that she was being thorough) and Mako had found the ring in the car. And, yeah, it was a Templar ring. The marking of the ring signified that the Gripper was an upper-middle ranked Templar; meaning he served someone who probably served someone, but he had people serving him and they definitely had people serving them.

Very irregular for a Templar of his rank to be drunk early in the morning and mugging a random girl on the street.

Slipping the ring and the man's cell phone inside her pocket, she grabbed the keys and made her way to the cell.

Mr. Wak was still blissfully asleep in the cot. The other man in the cell was smart and kept a quiet wary eye on her. The rapist was stupid and actually trying to flirt. So, as soon as the door was open, Asami pulled out her gun and shot him on the thigh (she was aiming for the crotch but changed her mind mid-trigger-squeeze). For good measure, she kneecapped the screaming man on both knees and kicked his head to the wall to shut him up.

The third man had curled up in the corner, crying for mercy (really smart), and Mr. Wak had woken up from the noise.

"You saw nothing", Asami whispered to the crying man (a petty thief); the man nodded and went back to covering his head with his arms. "And you", she turned to her target. "You're coming with me."

"Like hell I—"

Asami aimed her gun at him.

"…okay…"

Smirking, Asami called Bob and hung up after two rings.

-0-0-0-0-0-

Taking the elevator to the top of the building had sealed Gripper's fate. Technically, the service elevator didn't go up there; it didn't have the button. However, there was a false panel with the special button that was sort of an Assassin's secret and Gripper saw Asami use it. Now, she _had_ to kill him.

Oops.

Well, Gripper did not know, so he didn't resist much when Asami pushed him out of the hatch and onto the rooftop. Up there, Asami interrogated him with some well-aimed jabs. Two broken ribs later, he was ready to talk about what he did for the Templars.

"Where?" Asami growled as soon as he finished telling her about the weapon stockpile.

"South City Wharf", Gripper wheezed through his pain, chest falling up and down rapidly. "I-it's in a container. R-24-24-CD."

"What are they for?"

"I don't know!" he winced, regretting the raised volume. "I don't know what t-they want, okay. They asked me to gather men and weapons and that's it."

"I need more", Asami said. When Gripper did not say more, she reached down at the man half-lying on the ground and, with surprising strength, yanked him up by his collar. "I need more", she whispered again. Lesson no.1 in the Art of Forceful Interrogation for Ladies: when you were a pretty and generally non-threatening looking gal, you whispered because it would freak the crap out of your source; raising your voice would only make you look like you were trying too hard, like a Chihuahua out-barking a bulldog.

"I d-don't k-know any more", Gripper gulped. "Please, I swear, that's all I have."

Asami stared into the terrified brown eyes for a few seconds. "Then, may you find in death peace that you haven't earned in life."

"Wh-wha… AAARRGGHH!"

-0-0-0-0-0-

It was close to midnight and Asami was perching on top of building across from South City Wharf where one of their containers had, for no reason at all, exploded. Later police investigation would find that the container had been loaded with illegal weapons and explosives and their CSI would surmise that the gunpowder somehow exploded because of the change in air pressure or something. Asami was not worried. CSI _always_ went with the no-foul-play when the chance of foul play was very very slight. Either way, they would be distracted.

Also, a cache of weapons in a container owned by a known member of Triple Threat Triad? If that was not a distraction, Asami did not know what was; even if said member of Triple Threat Triad, the official report would say, had been confined in the RCPD Headquarters, somehow escaped to the roof, and fallen to his death (totally masking any bruises and broke bones Asami had inflicted on him).

And, as expected, the phone rang.

Asami put Gripper's phone to her ear and waited.

The person on the other line had the same idea. He or she hang up first.

Smirking, Asami dropped the phone and crushed it under her foot.

-0-0-0-0-0-

Ah, the Templars…

Starting out as a religious paramilitary group during the Crusade, Templars had enjoyed heights of power rarely matched in history; they had made debtors of kings and popes, and brought to knees might empires and ancient civilizations.

They were basically bullies and bullies, no matter what kind, relied on numbers.

Getting them inside the abandoned building on Jawwa District was easy, she simply had to put Gripper's ring in it. _Just as Assassins wield stealth and subterfuge_ , her master once said, _you can always count on the Templars to enforce strength and control._

Even to their own kind.

The Templar ring had a GPS tracker in it, no doubt.

The building she'd chosen was a boarded up rundown apartment building (getting the few bumps squatting inside to get the heck out had been more difficult a task but she had managed it with a few yuans). Hidden inside a wardrobe of rotted wood, tucked in the corner of the receptionist area in the lobby, she waited and peeked through the hole on the wardrobe door.

They had sent a dozen Triple Threat Triad, led by Lightning Bolt Zolt, the gang leader himself. Asami smirked, pushing her bunched up coat deeper in the corner so it wouldn't snag on her foot. Zolt was a known Templar and a man of a rather flamboyant taste. He stood there, hands on a cane, Templar ring around his right index finger. His powder red suit and fedora looked cocky in the dark and a discerning audience would notice a brooch bearing Templar Cross on his hat and the stitching on his cuffs also bore the Cross symbol.

Lightning Bolt Zolt snapped his fingers and his men, armed with pistols and switchblades, and a couple came bearing shotguns, marched forward and spread around the ground floor with as much grace as a horde of rhino in an antiques store.

Asami counted to thirty, giving them a chance to spread out some more. More than half the men ascended the stairs slowly, wary of ambush. Not all gangsters were fools, as it turned out.

Someone had found a usable chair for Lightning Bolt Zolt and the Triad boss sat right there in the middle of the lobby like he owned the place (which was a possibility). Legs crossed, finger tapping the globe at the top of his cane, Zolt looked smug rather than wary; he had the face of someone who'd faced many oppositions that had not even been able to touch him. A man drunk of power.

And he was sitting right there, ten feet in front of the wardrobe with only two of his underlings between him and Asami's blades. Two other stood behind him with their backs turned and their attentions at the front door. The only lighting came from the harsh glare of a portable emergency light one of them had put on the floor.

Asami finished her slow count.

The door of the wardrobe burst as she leaped out. Zolt's face flinched into shock as his two guards fell from the cut on the side of their necks. Asami whipped out her gun and shot the other two guards who turned around a tad too slow on the heads.

Zolt scrambled up, grabbing the top part of his cane – it was a concealed sword – but Asami kicked his hand, bruising his fingers. A left hook connected with Zolt's jaw and sent him to the ground. Kicking the sword cane aside, Asami waited while keeping her ears trained on the stairs for any hurried footsteps; her Walther PPK was small and concealable, but it had no silencers. The Order's fashion wizards could do a lot about making clothes that were functional, protective, and able to conceal small weapons, but even they could do nothing against _bulges_.

Zolt's hand dived into his jacket and he pulled out a revolver. Asami's free hand flexed and her hidden blade jutted out as she slammed it point first in a side hook, severing Zolt's trigger finger and catching the revolver by the trigger ring. She flipped the revolver up and caught it. Delivering a kick to Zolt's nose, she turned to the stairs and dropped four rushing gangsters with both guns.

She emptied the revolver and threw it at Zolt, again, scoring his nose. Zolt flopped on his back and screamed in pain, hands on his bloody face. Asami dived into the darkness behind the lobby desk under the stairs, reloading her gun. She waited and let Zolt's panicked screams do its job, her free hand searched her pouch for two smoke bombs; spherical clay marbles filled with chemicals that produced thick chalky smoke when exposed to the air.

She put a fresh clip between her teeth and cracked the smoke bombs in her grip.

"Boss! Boss, you good?"

That was her cue to count to five. And she stood up and, scanning the room quick – she counted three visible gangsters – and threw the cracked clay marbles to the floor. They hissed and spewed out thick smoke. Asami fired half her clip and heard two drops. She crouched back down behind the lobby desk as bullets sailed her way.

Crawling around the side, she kept low and fired into the clearing smoke at the remainder of the gangsters ready near Zolt. They dropped and Asami got up, reloading. The remaining three, one of them with a shotgun, ran down the stairs and she intercepted the first one with a flying knee that drove him into the wall. She shot the second, the shotgun dude who was too slow, in the face and the third one lunged at her with a tackle.

The goon caught her side and brought her down hard, she lost grip of her gun. Straddling her, the man launched his fist. Asami titled to the side, evading the meaty fist, and reached out, poking the man's eye without putting much effort. She only wanted to make him flinch and it succeeded. The slight lessening of the weight on her was all she needed to buck her hips up and wrapped her leg on the man's neck, and yanked him off of her.

Spinning and rolling on her back and getting up in a kneeling crouch, she waited until the goon get up. Behind her, Zolt was weaving audibly, still on the ground. The other gangster she'd kicked into the wall found his bearing and joined the fight. Now, it was two against one and the two each had a switchblade.

The newcomer gangster moved first, stabbing; Asami hopped back a little. The other lunged ahead (Asami wondered if he'd been a football player) and, this time, Asami sidestepped and let him rush past, pivoted and slashed his lower back with her hidden blade. The other moved for another thrust but Asami's front kick scored his gut first and he staggered back. The tackler spun and swept a wide arm, whether hoping to score with his tiny knife or with his meaty arms, nobody knew. Asami, while almost as tall, was vastly outweighed, so she ducked and punched the man's ribs. As he doubled over, her knee met his face.

The other goon came again with a slash. Asami stepped into it, gripping his arm and putting her back on his chest; with her hip, she unbalanced the man and threw him over her shoulder in a simple judo flip. The man fell hard on his back and Asami drove her heel on his chest. And then she leaped with her hidden blades out like talons at the tackler in a bloody takedown.

Sliding her blades off the tackler's gurgling throat, she stood up and turned to the other man who was still on his back and struggling to gasp for air. Asami stepped around, putting him clear in Zolt's horrified field of vision. She crouched and calmly plunged her right hidden blade on the man's throat, stopping his gasp.

"You…" Zolt tried to scramble up but crashed back down. "Assassin…"

-0-0-0-0-0-

Lightning Bolt Zolt had been a hard man when he was younger. He was a middle-aged creep now, but he was still tough. He survived all Asami had dealt him at Jawwa, he survived being thrown into the trunk of one of the Triple Threat cars, driven not very gently across the Republic City before the cops came, all the way to Dragon Flats Borough. He had barely said a word when Asami dragged his bleeding sorry butt up to the top floor of the construction site that had gone bankrupt, although it might be because Asami had slapped a piece of tape over his mouth.

Thirty minutes later, he was tied by his wrists by chains to a skeleton of a beam right in the middle of the wall-less floor, wheezing and suspended by the chain. Asami hissed and rubbed her left fist, hoping she had not just bruised her knuckles. She must've broken or cracked all of Zolt's ribs and ruptured some organs, but the man still would not talk.

Plan B.

She went to her coat that she had discarded on the floor and took out her phone. "You know, if you are waiting for you Templar friends to come for you, they won't", because she had left Zolt's ring at Jawwa with his dead crew. "So, this is your last chance. Talk."

Zolt glared and said nothing.

"No?" she accessed an app and her phone turned into a clone of Zolt's; she had cloned his phone back at Jawwa and destroyed it for fear of GPS tracker.

 _"Where other men are limited by morality or law, remember…"_

"Everything is permitted", Asami whispered to herself, squashing any emerging shred of mercy. She shoved the phone in front of Zolt's face and watched his eyes go wide.

"You… you bi—"

A punch to the gut silenced him. Asami really was _not_ in the mood to suffer any insult.

"Speak", she said coldly. "Or they will join you in hell."

Zolt's bravado was gone quickly. "They're just kids. Spare them… please, spare them."

"Then, tell me what I want to know", she bargained.

"Amon!" he cried out and broke down, sobbing. "Those weapons are for Amon!"

"The Equalist?" Asami hid her surprise.

"Amon is a Master Templar", Zolt heaved. "Why do you think his stupid racist tirade got so many supporters? How do you think is he still alive? The Templars' backing him up and protecting him!"

"When?" Asami demanded in a cold hiss.

"I don't know. I don't even know what he's planning!" Zolt cried. "That's all I know! Please let me and my kids go!"

Asami sighed and gripped the man's shoulder, pushing him upright. "Then, I end you now in the name of those you've ruined. May you find comfort knowing that your death is a step towards peace."

She pulled out her hidden blade of Zolt's gut and waited for him to stop moving. When he did, she closed his eyes.

-0-0-0-0-0-

Asami punched the number and waited for it to ring twice before hanging up. She slipped her phone back inside her coat and, standing in the middle of Gripper's small apartment, she tapped her foot, hands on her waist. God, she was turning into her mother.

The Order had been notified and they would send people to take care of Zolt. She'd been careful enough to mimic the work of a hit group of the Agni Kai Triad. In fact, the empty non-active construction site where they would find Zolt belonged to the Agni Kai. The Order's crew would do the rest.

Her tapping foot and hours spent binge-watching _NCIS Los Angeles_ with Korra ( _"They have hotter guys there!"_ had been Korra's sole motivation) gave her an idea. She began checking the floorboards and, son of a nut, found a hollow patch right under the coffee table in the living room. Upon closer inspection, she found no way to open it without ripping through the linoleum; she deduced that this was where Gripper kept his quick getaway stuff – she pictured a bag filled with clothes, guns, and booze. She moved her search back to the kitchen and the only bedroom there, and found a loose floorboard in the kitchen.

The kitchen happened to have exposed floorboards and she pried them open with her hidden blade. She found a cell phone and a flash drive. She scanned it with her Assassins phone for bug and trackers, found none, and took it with her. Back to the living room, she tried the patch she'd found and her assumption was correct. A getaway fanny pack containing cash, credit cards, and a set of keys – car key and normal looking key- with a Beretta lying on top of it. She took the bag with her.

She had just clicked the fanny pack around her waist when the door clicked.

"I don't know why we can't wait until morning", one of the men grumbled.

Asami was in the shadows when the men in dark hoodie came in. They were not cops, of course. Gripper had been only associated with the Triple Threat, not a real member, so it would be unlikely for the Triple Threat to enter his house, even if they somehow had gotten wind of his death, to remove evidence or something. Also, there was the thing about Zolt. It should have distracted both the Triple Treat Triad and the police.

So, Templars? Most probably.

"Amon said we need that flash drive", _Equalists!_ "Election's coming soon and we need that info."

Asami cursed the layout of this simple apartment; a single square space that was the living room, smaller than her room back home, and on the far side was the bathroom, bedroom, and kitchen. There was a coffee table in the middle of the living room, with a couch, facing a TV and that was it. There was absolutely no way to hide aside from hugging to the shadow, avoiding the glare of the light from the streetlamps outside, and the Equalists only needed to turn on the light to see her.

And they did.

The Equalists had entered, carrying a flashlight each. One of them had moved deeper and the other lagged a couple of steps behind. The one on the front was scanning the room with his flashlight; the one at the back was patting the wall for the light switch, which was located between him and Asami who had been silently creeping closer in the dark.

When the switch was on, the Equalist at the back saw Asami's boot flying to his face. The impact sent him towards the open door and the sound of it hitting the wall was like thunder. The other one cried out and instinctively spun around, swinging his flashlight like a baton.

Asami ducked and punched his exposed side. The man grunted and staggered back, Asami lunged at him like a feral cat and brought him down in a flurry of punches; her last punch bounced the back of his head against the floor and he was out.

They had not gone down quietly. Asami's training kicked in as she rolled away and positioned herself facing the door where the other Equalist was down cold. Five seconds passed and she was about to relax when hurried footsteps sounded down the hallway.

Asami always carried four extra clips with her and she now had only one full clip in her gun and her only spare left was maybe half full. She was definitely not staying.

And not using any obvious stuff like smoke bombs. The Order of Assassins' presence in the Republic was truly anonymous and she was _not_ about to mess that up. As the matter of fact, the Republic City underworld was convinced that, judging from her handiwork, Asami was three or four different hit-men hired by various Triads as external consultants (she was _that_ good at mixing up her MO and covering her tracks).

But, she was not so good that she could stand her ground with whatever weapons she currently had against four… five… six… or more gunmen. She dashed back, dodging bullets, and smashed herself out of the bedroom window.

From the second floor.

Flailing hands caught a tree branch that snapped. Her fall was slowed enough and she rolled off her downward force across the asphalt. She would bruise. Getting up, patting down her coat (ah, blue-blooded upbringing would never die), she rounded the building to where she parked her car (well, Zolt's car). Three dark vans were waiting there, half a dozen men in black outfit and hats were milling around, some were openly carrying guns.

Asami snuck around, crawling from car to car until she got into hers. The sound of the door unlocking was like a gunshot in the dead of night and it drew their attention. She slipped in, keeping low as the men shouted at her to show herself, and she turned on the ignition.

Lightning Bolt Zolt had been crappy when it came to car maintenance; the car coughed but didn't turn on.

"Crap!" Asami cringed as the window glass exploded. She tried again and, at the third try, it turned on. Which was good because she was _this_ close to promising God anything to get out of this. And Asami had more scruples than an Assassin had a right to; whatever she would have promised, she would have kept.

She backed the car as bullets thudded on the exterior, blowing glass. She left rubber burn on the ground on her way out. On her rearview mirror as she tore through the city, she saw the three vans racing after her. Thankful for the relatively empty road in the hours past midnight, she headed to South City Wharf.

She floored the gas but the vans were slowly gaining momentum. They got close enough to fire at her and she kept low.

 _Just a little more…_

She sped through Rose Garden, made a turn into Tosako, and ran the traffic light into South City Street. Speeding ahead, she drove towards South City wharf and rammed through the portal despite the security guard's protest. Inside the compound, she moved towards the stacks of containers and made sure the collection of RCPD officers still working on the exploded container saw her and her pursuers.

Soon, sirens followed the pursuit and the Equalists' attention were distracted by the four police cruisers chasing after them.

So, naturally, Asami headed for the pier.

Ah, the thrill of the chase. The young intrepid Assassin could not help but giggle; if only Korra could see her now. And _she_ called Asami unadventurous since she started working at the university. Granted, Asami had rarely ventured further than the occasional drinks at Jasmine Dragon after work, fending off the advances of men, but it was not like Korra was doing any better.

There, in front of her… water. End of the line.

 _To be an Assassin is_ not _to be fearless_ , said her master once. _Fear is good. Fear is a weapon. Master it. Use it._

And she was so very afraid.

She remembered her initiation, kneeling in front of her master in her robes with her hood down, reciting the Creed after her master. And when she was done, her master had placed a hand on the crown of her head, spoken words of blessing, and put her hood on for her. He'd helped her stand and finished the words of the Creed.

 _"We work in the dark to serve the light",_ he said as he fitted her first hidden blade bracer on her left forearm. _"We are Assassins",_ he concluded and, with a smirk, he leaped off the tall lighthouse tower where her initiation had taken place.

And Asami had jumped after him.

"I work in the dark to serve the light", Asami swerved sharply; her car drifted, presenting her side to the water, only a foot away from the break line.

 _I am an Assassin_

She dove out of the car through the shot up glass of the driver's seat window, a Leap of Faith out of a moving swerving car into the water.

Four hours later, a sleepy Asami was back in her apartment, having breakfast with Korra. The morning news reported the series of incidents happening the night before: Gripper's apparent accident/suicide (they were still trying to determine that), Lightning Bolt Zolt's sudden death (and the speculations regarding the who, what, and how surrounding it, and the potential repercussions for the people of the City), the break-in of Gripper's apartment and the high-speed chase that ended at South City Wharf where a car belonging to Zolt had been found abandoned and shot up and three unknown dark vans evaded police chase.

"Wow… that is so messed up", Korra said with mouth full of toast.

"Hmm?" Asami looked up from her cereal. "Oh, yeah. Messed up. Pass me a banana?"


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3 – Yu Dao**

Disclaimer: I own nothing

* * *

-0-0-(Yu-Dao-2 BSC)-0-0-

"Nephew?"

"Hmm?"

"I say, could you please pass me the banana."

Grumbling, Zuko grabbed the bananas by the bunch and dropped it on his uncle's waiting hand.

"That looks disgusting", he said, eyeing the bowl of mashed up fruit his uncle was working on with a face.

"But it tastes delicious", ever the upbeat, Uncle Iroh grinned. "Now, we add sugar… and milk… and mix them… and done! Would you like to give it a try?"

"Pass", Zuko got up. The giggling of the girls sitting at the corner of Iroh's teashop was irritating as always.

Exiled, dishonored, and now living in the heart of the conflict territory, Zuko had spent his coming-of-age a pauper and a refugee. Now, at eighteen, he had to admit, life was better that it'd been two years ago.

The War had restarted. A little.

There had been small skirmishes along the border of the colonies, but after two years of it, the government of the Earth Kingdom and Fire Nation had gotten used to it and stopped making a big deal out of it.

Besides, Yu Dao, the center of the colonies, was a much better place than the Upper Ring of Ba Sing Se. Agni knows what had possessed Iroh to choose that as the place to rebuild his life after he'd abdicated his right to the Fire Throne and chosen to live as an exile (or expat, as Iroh kept insisting).

The Upper Ring had sucked and they'd left shortly before the death of General Hwang, the senior member of the Ba Sing Se's Council of Five, their highest military council. It halted an all-out war, Zuko had learnt later, and Hwang had been replaced by General How, his deputy and a more temperate man. Uncle Iroh hadn't been as surprised as Zuko had of the news of the general's sudden death though. Uncle Iroh had always been annoyingly serene, even at the sudden shift of their lifestyle.

Night in Yu Dao was freer but… a disappointment.

Yu Dao, a walled city along the Western Shore, had been a huge loss to the Earth Kingdom. It was a rich and powerful center of industry. The peace talk two years ago had assigned Yu Dao as a shared state: the citizens' cries for independence had been appeased with the condition that both Fire Nation and Earth Kingdom were represented in their governing council, along with other more financially substantial amenities. Simply put, Yu Dao and the rest of the colonies became a puppet of two puppeteers who wouldn't hesitate to crush them like an egg should they tried anything funny.

And, two years later, the cry for true independence had resounded once more.

So, yeah… they had entered Ba Sing Se during the most paranoid, xenophobic post-war time, only to leave after three years, right before things had started to get better. Then, now, in Yu Dao, they were living at the perilous time at the brink of another war. Uncle Iroh sure knew how to pick'em.

But, this place sure was a sight better than the stuck up Ba Sing Se.

It had taken a terrifyingly little time for Uncle Iroh to rebuild his Jasmine Dragon and the locals had taken to it very quickly. Perching only one block away from the harbor, in about one hour Jasmine Dragon Teashop would transform into a tavern as the more rowdy clienteles from the harbor arrived. Sailors, dockworkers, and the likes, they had little appreciation for Iroh's award-winning brewed jasmine and soft tsungi horn music. They brought their own musical instruments and Iroh's tea staff would change shift with his night staff that consisted of a scary bartender and his two comely daughter (one of whom was the local butcher).

Zuko would have stayed and helped out, but he didn't want to. He didn't like the night bartender; he always made jokes about penis.

Standing now on top of Mr. Li's ceramic shop, Zuko looked up to the smear of silver on the thick dark cloud above.

 _"Our secret",_ he remembered his Big Cousin say as Lu Ten strapped the tiny him to his board back with his belt and the older boy would scale up the Fire Palace and run across rooftop with him.

Zuko had been so little then and he'd only wanted one thing: to grow up.

Now, he had all grown up. And he wanted only one thing: to go back when things were right.

So, he ran across rooftop, carrying the memory of his Big Cousin in his chest.

There was a thrill in running, in jumping across rooftop to rooftop. He always caught himself smiling during one of these night outing.

And yeah, Yu Dao, definitely better in this case. The rise and fall of the skyline provided more challenge, the Fire-Nation-inspired side roof fashion of architecture provided better footing, Water Tribe carved murals on the wall a better grip, and, best of all, there was absolutely no chance to run into the creepy Dai Li on the rooftops.

No, no Dai Li.

Only Jet.

Zuko leaped across the gap between a butcher shop and a lower restaurant, rolling to stop his inertia, barely managed to dodge Jet's kick. Stopping on a crouch, Zuko dropped on his back and spun like a turtle, legs blindly flailed as he kicked and felt that satisfying thunk against Jet's whatever. He pushed himself up mid-spin feet first and straightened up, standing now to face Jet who was hopping on one foot.

In another world, they could have been brothers.

Hair as unruly as Zuko's, but brown, built as lean, but shorter, and skin slightly more tanned, Jet looked like Zuko's half-brother if one of his parents was an Earth Kingdom. Their faces looked nothing alike – Jet's was more pinched, still irresistible to many girls, but with obvious Earth Kingdom green eyes.

In a traditional story, Zuko would be a tragic prince and Jet a vagrant hero. Very different. And yet, even Uncle Iroh had remarked that the boys had something very similar; he just couldn't quite decide what.

Zuko gripped his fists, heard them cracked. He lunged as Jet did.

Zuko had been trained by the best Fire Nation martial art masters in his childhood; Jet's fighting skills were tempered by harsh life on the street. It showed in their moves.

Jet's wide arm swing was sloppy, but fierce. Zuko's defense and subsequent counter punch were refined, but rigid. Jet caught Zuko's wrist and, by sheer strength alone, stopped the fist from hitting his chest; he grinned as Zuko's eyes widened. He knew Zuko didn't like to be touched. Leaping back, he yanked the other boy off balance and his foot leaped towards Zuko's face.

On his precarious footing, right arm caught, Zuko raised his left to block to the kick with his forearm. He pushed that hand down to the floor and, throwing his weight on it, he kicked up. Jet had not anticipated it and yelped as he staggered back to avoid Zuko's flying foot, releasing Zuko's caught wrist.

Zuko did not let up. He leaped and landed an elbow strike. Jet crossed his arm and took the brunt of it, staggering even more. He kicked once and Zuko hopped back, creating enough space for him to lunge at Zuko's midsection.

They came crashing on the rooftop.

The front door of the restaurant snapped open and a big man in apron and weaving a cleaver yelled at them. "Would you delinquents get out of here?! You're scattering dust from the ceiling!"

Ten minutes later, panting from their escape through the rooftops, the two boys found themselves on top of a warehouse belonging to the port authority, only a block away from Jasmine Dragon. It was their favorite spot.

The height allowed them to overlook the sea and the many masts of many ships docked at the wharf. The seafront, like the rest of Yu Dao, was a growing living thing, ever expanding, ever busy. The whole place, the whole Yu Dao, Zuko had once said, was like a store that never closed.

"I got you", Zuko said.

"Yeah, right", Jet snorted. "I got that last score", he said.

"No, you didn't. I flipped you to the ground."

"You fell when I tackled you. Don't deny it, Lee."

Zuko tch-ed but said nothing. He was never good at verbal argument, which was quite surprising that Jet, with all his charisma born of natural leadership quality, still wasn't able to talk Zuko into joining his Freedom Fighters.

 _"One hundred matches",_ Jet had said one fateful encounter shortly after their reunion in Yu Dao – they had first met years before on the way to Ba Sing Se. " _After our one hundredth match, we tally our scores. If I win, you join us."_

Zuko had agreed only to shut Jet up and stop him from stalking him everywhere – people were beginning to talk and even Uncle Iroh had sat Zuko down one fine evening and gave him a modified version of the talk, where _'the bird met another bird because it's not too fond of the bee'_. It was horrifying.

The door to the warehouse opened, spilling lights onto the dark yard. A thin middle-aged man in ragged clothes and queued hair, carrying a broom, came out. He looked up at the boys and said. "You two going out soon? I'm locking the gate after I'm done sweeping here."

"Sure", Jet waved. They got up and began leaping through the roofs, heading out. As they ran along the roof of the guards' barrack, Jet said. "Hey, you know Old Sweepy is a former Dai Li agent, right?"

Zuko, leaping across the gap and landed on the side of the fence surrounding the compound, rolled his eyes. "Everyone is a former government stooge to you", he said as he climbed the fence.

Jet arrived at the top of the fence last. They stood now, nearly twenty feet above ground. The street in front of the wharf was busy, even during the night.

"25 even, Lee", Jet said.

"Nice try, Jet", Zuko snickered. "24-25, my point."

Jet laughed and dismissed it with a wave. "You know where to find me", he said right before Zuko leaped, spread-eagle, and landed on his back right in a passing open-top cart carrying hay.

The driver did not notice. They never did, for some reason.

Sighing, Zuko caught himself grinning.

"24-25", he muttered to the cloudy night sky above as the cart carried him away.

-0-0-0-0-0-

Who knew Jet could scream like a girl.

"Careful when tipping", Zuko tried not to grin too much. "Cooking oil is flammable."

"Your face is flammable!" when Jet panicked, he wasn't very articulate.

Only Uncle Iroh would hook Jet up with his night cook to learn wok cooking; that intense stove fire, that giant wok, that little thin spatula. Even Zuko had given up trying to 'save' Jet by giving him opportunity at a gainful employment. The cook shared Zuko's sentiment and, while he was respectful towards Iroh and had said nothing, he was quite generous with his smack on Jet's head whenever Jet messed up. And, after awhile, it wasn't funny anymore. Zuko started to feel sorry for Jet.

"What I don't get is why you accepted my uncle's offer."

"I could use the money", because, for some reason, many brave old women attended Jasmine Dragon afterhours when both Zuko and Jet were on shift and those old gals were always generous with the tips.

But, they were very handsy. The dockworkers sitting a table away, telling dirty jokes had better manner than those oldies, two of which had just pinched Zuko's cheeks. The old ladies, not the dockworkers. And by cheeks, I meant the ones Zuko used to sit.

"Trust my uncle to whore ourselves out and then bail", Zuko seethed back at the counter bordering the dining area and the open kitchen. "Pai Sho game at the senior center, my butt!"

"Don't give them ideas", Jet wiped his forehead, juggling one-handed with the wok. "Stir-fried noodle, extra shrimps, extra scallions, no fish-balls, two plates!"

A kitchen hand hurried over with two empty plates. Jet transferred the noodle onto the plates and the kitchen hand brought them to the counter.

"Thanks", Zuko rubbed his hand, smirking at the noodle. Jet joined him with chopsticks for them. The kitchen hand frowned then left, giving them the stink eye.

"So, guess what the Freedom Fighters did last night", was Jet's opening salvo. As per usual.

"Rob a bank?"

Being a shared state, the national security of the Colonies fell under the jurisdiction of Fire Nation and Earth Kingdom. Aside from local police force to patrol the streets and did VIP protections, the Colonies were allowed no armed forces. Surrounding Yu Dao, lying along important inter-colonial-state roads, and patrolling the surrounding waters were Earth Kingdom and Fire Nation soldiers.

They were not allowed into any Colonies, unless proper protocols were observed, and had established supply depots and fortifications on strategic places. Those fortifications, though meant to safeguard the Colonies, could easily turn into a siege line.

So, it came to no surprise that President Morishita, to keep the Fire Lord and Earth King happy, vetoed every attempt by the Council to propose the formation of militia forces; current members of the Colonial Republic Council were representatives from eighteen villages and four cities, all called the Colonies home, and a representative from Fire Nation and Earth Kingdom, both had stakes in Yu Dao's industry and would profit from true independence. Water Tribe and Air Nomads had been invited to join the Colonies Council, after the Colonies opened itself to migration from those two Nations, but that would take years.

In the meantime, pro-independence colonials, those who advocated military might, had been grouping together. Not too big a group or they would attract unwanted attention. Men banded together, sharing common interest and goals, and that overload of testosterone gave birth to the Triads; basically street gangs, but the benevolent kind, that ran protection rackets that actually _worked_ and provided manual labors, sometimes rather forcefully. There'd been skirmishes then and again over work shift in factories, harbors, and some such, but the local police couldn't take them seriously. it wasn't like they were endangering citizens. Much.

No, the police were more concerned about the _younger_ gangsters, the Freedom Fighters included. While the Triads were actually keeping the criminals in line, the young ones who formed their own groups were often involved in vandalism, petty robberies, and gang fights. Whenever possible, a Triad group would interfere and break them up, but such issue could be tricky. Some of the young ones could be affiliated with another well established Triad and a wrong move would constitute a declaration of war.

Of course, years later, when the Republic Independence War broke, they would all joined forces, but we are getting ahead of ourselves.

Anyway, that explosion was loud and they heard it from the Jasmine Dragon.

"What was that?" Zuko turned to the door, half-expecting an answer to walk in.

"Big fire", one of the dockworkers was already at the door, looking out. "It comes from Tosako."

Zuko felt cold. "Uncle's at Tosako."

Soon, he found himself running through the street, ignoring people who had spilled into the streets, looking at awe at the pillar of smoke rising from somewhere in the city, with Jet at his tail. Up ahead, the ever nocturnal Snack Street came into being – where stands selling snack items lined the sides and opened after dinner time until well past midnight. Zuko leaped onto the outdoor table belonging to Mr. Koyashi's fried dough stand, ignoring the protest of patrons, up the roof of the stand, ignoring Mr. Koyashi's scream, and leaped high, catching the second floor windowsill of the closed building behind the stand.

He scaled up like a lizard and reached the rooftop. From his vantage point, he could see the pillar of flame engulfing the building he recognized as Mr. Fung's flower shop, and his heart jumped. Uncle always stopped by Mr. Fung's for a cup of tea after every Pai Sho at the senior center. Uncle usually stopped by to pick him up there and they always walked home together because Mr. Fung's health had worsened lately so Uncle walked him home 'just in case'.

"That's not even close", Zuko nearly jumped out of his skin when Jet heaved; he had forgotten about Jet. "The senior center is farther that way", Jet pointed. "I'm sure your uncle's fine."

But, Zuko was not listening anymore. He was already running across the rooftops, making a beeline towards the fire.

They were two blocks away and the streets below were crowding; a second explosion took place behind them. Zuko did not need Jet screaming, "The center!"

He was already running towards it.

He ran and leaped the distance of three blocks when he found himself running on the roofs above a dark alley where he caught some movement. It was completely dark down there and there was wooden crashing sound. Before he could even stop, figures in dark garbs climbed up the roof; they looked just as surprised to see two boys up on the roof. Still, they attacked.

Barehanded, Zuko and Jet were outarmed and outnumbered when four men ran towards them, waving a baton each. Zuko grabbed Jet's shoulder and jumped across the alley where more men in black were converging. They rushed ahead, Jet tackling and shoving one of the men out of his way, and ran the whole length of the block, all three buildings.

Skidding to stop, nearly slipping, the boys turned around; ten men were advancing on them. They looked down again and shared a look. Standing on the fourth floor height, it was too high to jump, and there would be no conveniently passing carts of hays. Jet shrugged and they turned and hopped down, catching the ledge as they dropped. They scaled down as quickly as they could, catching loose bricks, cracks on the wall, and any support they could grab no matter how flimsy. Their progress was slow.

Dust rained down and four of the men jumped like they did not care, only to swing back towards the wall by the rope they each held. Two of them smacked on Zuko and Jet, flattening them against the wall; the one who got Jet locked his arms around Jet's neck, chocking him as they dangled, but the one who hit Zuko let him fall to the ground.

Zuko hit the dirt hard, his head bounced on the ground.

His ear rang and a sharp lance of pain pierced his brain. The thud Jet made as he dropped next to him was nearly inaudible. Unable to do anything but tensing against the pain, Zuko could only watch when the wall in front of him burst, raining brick dust and wood as the back of a man in dark garb broke through it.

The man the back belonged to dropped to the ground and standing behind him was a bull of a man in a gray hooded garb, with _knives_ sticking out of his fists.

Then, Zuko blacked out.

-0-0-0-0-0-

The pain in his head thumped with each step he did not take.

Zuko woke up to a very familiar feeling.

He had been rather small as a kid, barely taller than his little sister. It hadn't been fun, of course, coming from a family that defined physical perfection – his father had the physique of a demigod and his mother a celestial maiden. The only upside had been, with a doting uncle and big cousin, he got carried a lot. His favorite past time was playing War General with Lu Ten, where Zuko would be a war general and Lu Ten his faithful steed that would piggyback him around the Palace.

When Zuko managed to open his eyes, he felt thick hard surface on his chest. He shifted his head a little and saw the hooded back of a head. He recognized that smell anywhere.

"U-uncle?"

"He's awake", said Jet from somewhere. "We should go to Dragon Flats. My Freedom Fighters are there—"

"No", yes, that rasp… Uncle Iroh. "We go to Chestnut Street. Now!"

And, of course, Zuko passed out again.

-0-0-0-0-0-

This occasion of waking up felt so much more comfortable.

Zuko was lying down, for one thing, on a bed more comfortable than he had been on for _years_. Then, there was that cool wet thing rubbing on his face. His eyes fluttered open and…

He froze.

The kindly middle-aged lady smiled as she removed the wet compress and turned around, saying something over her shoulder.

Footsteps… each only caused some ghost of a pain to Zuko's head.

"Hey, buddy", Jet grinned, showing off bleeding gums. His right eye was bruised.

"Nephew", Uncle Iroh shoved past Jet. "Are you okay?" his thick hand found Zuko's cheek and he looked worried.

His hood was down and, up close, Zuko noticed the armor, as gray as the fabric he was wearing, with intricate carving along the edge accompanied by scratch marks here and there. And the plated bracer around the forearm with a strange mechanism attached at the wrist.

Confused and still dazed, Zuko croaked. "You look ridiculous. How did you find an armor that can fit you?"

-0-0-0-0-0-

They left for Jasmine Dragon a little after sunrise. Mrs. Morishita had insisted that they stayed for breakfast but Iroh had declined profusely, stating that it would be safer if they returned as quickly as possible.

Yes, Mrs. Morishita, the First Lady.

Apparently, they had just spent the night in the president's townhouse.

President Morishita had kept Iroh until midnight and when he returned to the room that had been provided for them, already out of his armors, the sneak, and was back in his usual baggy robes, he'd fallen asleep on the couch, probably to avoid any attempt by Zuko to have a talk. Now, walking back to the teashop, he was equally silent.

Zuko and Jet were also quite subdued, both wearing new clothes provided by the presidential household – their clothes were dirty and ripped, and Iroh had said it would be better if they changed into something else anyway, just in case they were recognized in their clothes. Zuko took the hint and let his uncle be for now.

The teashop was open, manned by the day shift and a couple of sleepy dockworkers. Iroh thanked them and headed straight to their apartment upstairs. Zuko and Jet followed.

The previous night, Jet had filled Zuko in on what had transpired after he passed out. According to Jet, Uncle Iroh fought like a demon; he had killed all of those men in black.

Zuko had felt strangely hollow at the obvious awe in Jet's voice when he recounted the fight, boasting on his participation (which resulted in the bleeding gum and black eye). Zuko didn't know why he felt this way. His Uncle had been a war general, the Dragon of the freaking West, the first person who breached the Wall of Ba Sing Se. He knew Iroh had killed before, maybe by the dozen, or hundreds, even thousands if you count lives lost by his indirect actions. And yet, he couldn't deny that in the five years he had spent with his uncle in exile, even with the total of three times they were set on by bandits on the road, and that one time when they were mugged in the Lower Ring of Ba Sing Se, Uncle Iroh had never resorted to murder.

Uncle Iroh fought, yes, but never killed.

Last night, Zuko witnessed firsthand of the killer his Uncle was.

Sitting at the dining table, slouching in Jet's case, Zuko waited, back straight in attention. He felt like a little child again, like that first time he attended the formal family dinner to welcome General Iroh back from the war. His father had drilled him in the proper sitting etiquette for weeks before the dinner; perfect seiza, back straight, hands on thighs. Zuko fought the urge to fold his legs under him on the chair.

Setting down a pot of tea, Iroh sat, grunting as he did so. Oh, the old man facade…

"Before you say anything", Zuko said right when Iroh was about to speak; he timed it. "If you ask us what we were doing out last night, I swear I will drop kick you out the window."

Jet snickered.

"Uncle, what the hell?!" Zuko forced his temper down. His head still felt too tender for this. "What were you doing in the middle of the night, killing people?!"

The old man had the audacity to chuckle. "So much like Lu Ten, when he found out", he said fondly, eyes misting.

"No", Zuko growled. "You don't get to hide behind Lu Ten this time!"

Uncle Iroh flinched, looking hurt. "Well, simply put, I am a part of a group, an Order, if you will, whose aim is to promote freedom and preserve peace. We do so through many means – charity, educations, et cetera – but, sometimes, we do so by removing some very very bad people who seeks to undermine the freewill of the common men."

Jet and Zuko shared a look. "What order?"

"The Order of the White Lotus."


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4 – Shady Shin**

Disclaimer: I own nothing

* * *

-0-0-(Republic City-January 2017 ASC)-0-0-

Walking down the hallway of Republic City High School, Asami Sato and Korra Waters looked like a swimsuit model walking along side the cover girl of _Sporty Republica_. Asami tried not to look too mortified, but Korra was enjoying the attention. Heck, Korra had even picked out Asami's outfit (by guile and deceit).

Asami's hair was down, as always, wearing a deep purple cami and dark jeans, with a pair of boots and a leather jacket, while Korra defied the season in sneakers, blue ripped jeans, and tank top, the straps of her pink bra showing.

"Lighten up", Korra grinned slyly. "You're a teacher, for goodness' sake."

"Guest tutor", Asami muttered, ignoring the looks they garnered from the few students and staff out in the hallway.

"Just imagine, standing there in front of the class, knowing you're the reason the boys are failing their class in the first place…" Asami whipped her head towards Korra furiously but Korra ignored it and droned on. "…that you have the power to enlighten their minds, completely responsible for their future, not to mention all those awkward erections."

"Korra, they're teenagers."

The bleech simply laughed.

And yes, Korra might be right. In the extra-hour class Asami had been asked to tutor, there were twenty students who were failing physics and only one of them was a girl. Suspicious, indeed. And even that girl was busy ogling Korra who sat at the teacher's desk, feet propped up, so inappropriate, playing with her cell phone, while Asami explained the subjects on the blackboard.

To top it up, someone had turned up the room's thermostat. Asami braved on, not taking off her jacket, and somehow made it through the class and the sneaky machination of some horny teenage boys (she assumed). Staying for awhile after class, taking questions, she deflected any request for her numbers by saying that Mr. Kuna, the school's physics teacher, would be able to handle whatever query they had after today. After all, that was the whole point. Asami was just supposed to be a fresh face helping the kids study up on some old subjects. It was part of the University's outreach program.

They had lunch, just the two of them – Bolin was away on a shoot in North Republic and Mako had called, excusing himself on account of being swamped at work. It was nice. She and Korra rarely hang out anymore, just the two of them. The finicky Republic autumn had dialed up its sunny light and Asami had ditched her jacket in Korra's car. They strolled around the central park, linking arms, enjoying subs (it was near the end of the month and the girls were quite broke).

Sitting down at their usual bench, the one located along the path on the side of the large pond, sipping coffee, Korra unwrapped the extra sub they'd bought and waved it in the air, wafting faint scent of meatball and marinara.

A rustling of bushes later, the man whooped and snatched the sandwich. Without invitation, Gommu wedged himself between the two girls and began his feast. Exchanging pleasantries while they ate (the girls told the vagabond - the label he insisted - about Bolin's new project and he told them of the new bush he had made his home), Gommu informed them that the park had repealed its no-pet policy.

"Too many people protesting", he nodded sagely with mouth full of food. "It really shows you that with determination and sheer number, anyone can make a change. Say, girlie, that coffee does smell good. Any chance you… uh, got me one?"

Korra snickered. "I thought you don't drink coffee. Those poor Korkean farmers?"

"Nah, that cart over there sells instant. Boy, the things people can get away with!"

"Alright, I'm going", Korra got up. "Don't let any boys near her."

Asami watched Korra go, _not_ staring at her butt. Gommu's rabid munching slowed into a more respectable, almost civilized kind. "So?"

"So."

Gommu swallowed his bite and turned a little to the girl.

Asami caved. "Pretty sure my mugging was coincidental. Zolt singled out Amon by name. He claimed he didn't know what the Equalists are planning for those weapons."

"Amon _has_ been getting more rowdy lately."

"I destroyed their cache, but I suspect they have more. The ones who chased me were armed quite heavily", Asami casually reached to Gommu's dirty coat, brushing off crumbs… slipping a flash drive inside his breast pocket. "I dropped gripper's burner phone and credit cards in your bush when we walked here", she relaxed in her seat.

"I'm not confident I can do anything against Amon right now, Master", she sighed, wrapping her hands around her cup. "He is too well-protected."

"And you shouldn't", Gommu's warning carried an edge Asami rarely heard. "Amon has Yakone protecting him."

"Yakone?" Asami almost flinched. She raised her cup to ease her nerve. "The underworld enforcer _Yakone_?" she whispered to her cup.

Gommu grunted, rolling his left shoulder. Asami knew of Gommu and Yakone's skirmish back in the days – a bogeyman story among the initiates - which led to Gommu's faking his death and living as a homeless person haunting the Republic City Park at night. Asami had asked Gommu about it at some point but Gommu was always tight-lipped about his past. He'd only said that Yakone had shot him in the shoulder with a Desert Eagle and it had hurt a lot.

"Your package arrived an hour ago", Gommu said. "Pretty clever, taking Korra out for the day."

"Coincidence", Asami said, smiling at Korra who was walking back towards them with a cup of coffee.

"Coincidence is merely the result of well-executed manipulation", Gommu got up.

"Not this time", Asami said to her cup. Gommu had already walked away towards Korra. He took the cup and tried to hug Korra. The girl flinched and made a shooing gesture. Cackling, the crazy vagabond sauntered away with his sub and coffee.

"See over there?" Asami pointed at the bush behind them as Korra sat down. "Gommu's new toilet bush."

Korra made a face.

-0-0-0-0-0-

Years of active duty as an Assassin, Asami wholeheartedly believe that the hardest part of it was keeping it from Korra. She always did her assassin stuff at night and it seriously cut into her and Korra's fun time. So far, she had gotten away using her day job as an excuse – that she had to get up early for class in the morning or she had papers to grade, quiz to compose, and had to do it in her room, etc. It was flimsy and didn't stop Korra from just barging into her empty room, but, so far, it had held.

Still, Asami did not like it. She hated lying to her friends.

Luckily, the rowdy restaurant was very distracting. And she had to focus. She was in the enemy's den.

With her Assassin's jacket under her coat, unzipped and revealing the shirt underneath, she could blend easily among the patrons enjoying their dinner at this humble restaurant. The place looked smaller than it was because it was packed tonight. People of many sizes and ages chattering over dinner, and sitting at one of the booths was a group of men who might've as well worn a sign saying _'Triad members, nothing to see, move along'_. Four of them, huddling over the table, discussing something in hushed whisper; those facing the door kept glancing at it.

Receiving her takeouts, thanking the owner sweetly, Asami pretended to notice someone over the window at their booth. She waded over there, invading their personal space and leaning down, grinning and waving at the window. The Triads frowned at the pretty girl and more or less dismissed her ditzy, "Oops, sorry", though they watched her leave, totally checking out her derriere. Well, to be fair, she had loosened some buttons of her shirt and when she'd leaned over to wave outside the window, those men had gotten some glimpse of her cleavage while Asami, channeling her inner voyeur, tried not to claw their eyes out; they certainly had not noticed her planting a bug under their table.

And, true enough, their eyes followed her out the window as she stuck to her role, crossing the street in full view of the window booth and disappeared into the crowd across the street.

Five minutes waiting in the dark alley a block away, her master emerged from the shadow. Master Assassin Gommu had shed off his hobo coat and, still ratty and his grey hair still sticking out oddly, his natural appearance clashed heavily with his well-kept Assassin gears – thick gray hooded jacket, unbuttoned and his hood was down, his hidden blade bracer worn on the right arm peeking out of his slightly-too-short sleeve, the shirt he wore underneath was his regular street shirt, but the nicer one that had no patches, no tear, and only a little wear, and his gray cargo trousers covered his plated boots. Tucked on his belt were his gloves and his side-holstered guns were visible under his jacket when he eagerly reached for the food. Asami eyed him witheringly until he, grumbling, put on his gloves first.

Ten minutes later, they were squatting at the rooftop terrace of someone's dwelling across the street, hidden in the darkness, backs on the railing. Asami held her phone out, app on, earwig picking up the conversation at the table she had bugged, while Gommu was savoring his dinner slowly.

"Still nothing good", Asami grunted, rubbing her stiff neck. "They're still speculating about who offed Zolt and who will take his place. From their tone, the threat of civil war among the Triple Threat seems credible. Should we be concerned?"

"Yes", Gommu rummaged the bag for more fries. "Triple Threats are among the more 'messy' gangs. They don't do subtle. If they go to war, there will be blood on the street."

"And we can't just take them out?"

"It will create a vacuum in the balance of power, which will invite war among the other Triads and, maybe, the cops. Result: blood on the street. The Triads are like cancers, little girl. You can't just cut them out."

Asami sighed. "So, what have we learnt? Hmm… haste makes waste? I shouldn't have gone after Zolt without thinking of the consequences. I should've gone for some smaller fish first?"

"Wasn't that your plan originally? Your trap was to catch someone you can interrogate?" Gommu said. "You couldn't have known that Zolt would lead that group himself; he wasn't the type who'd dirty his own hands. You improvised and you did well. The Mentor agrees."

Asami could not keep the bitterness out of her sniff. "The Mentor…"

"Aye, the Mentor", Gommu said seriously. "What? You think anyone less than the Mentor could've gotten _me_ to go back to the field?"

Asami turned to the man, chewing her lip. "Master, I know it is presumptuous of me, but, personally, I have some misgivings about our Mentor."

"Understandable, but unnecessary", Gommu shrugged. He frowned at his former apprentice and sighed. "Trust in the Creed. That's the best advice I can give you."

Asami felt the curve of his mouth tip up and she looked away, hoping it had not been a sneer. "Very Orwellian of you, sir.'

"Everything is permitted, little girl", Gommu snickered, dropping a piece of fish into his mouth – Asami had bought fish-n-chips – from up high, reminding Asami of Tom holding Jerry by its tail before dropping the mouse in his mouth. Asami half expected to see a mouse-sized lump travelling down the man's throat.

"Who's handling Amon?"

Gommu did not seem surprised at the abruptness of the question. In fact, he did not even look up from his food; a skill at imperturbableness that Asami, as initiate, had once envied. "It's _Amon_ ", Asami continued, watching the master for any sign of wavering. "Too high profile a character, even without ties to the Templars."

At that, Gommu turned to her and eyed her sharply. Message received: _stop talking at once!_

Because someone might be listening somehow. Extreme Paranoid mode: activate.

So, Asami tried another juncture. "Zolt's kids?"

The lines on Gommu's face, Asami noticed, that were still caked with grime of living rough on the street, hardened. "Someone got to them before we could do anything."

Asami's hand holding the phone went numb. She felt color draining from her face. "What?"

Gommu frowned. "There's no need to get agitated. Zolt was cunning enough to have arranged something for his children should anything happen. One of these days, they would surface and be waved around like rallying flags by his loyal supporters."

"What if—"

"Other Triads would use them the same way, to bring Triple Threat under control, same goes if any Triple Threat dissidents got a hold of them, or even the Templars. In any scenario, those kids are much more valuable alive."

" _Everything_ is permitted, Master", Asami hissed sharply.

"Don't you think I know that?" Gommu growled. "Fact is, we didn't get to them soon enough. But, so what? Those kids are nasty. Privileged sons of— _what_?"

Asami had raised a hand to cut him off and part of it because something interesting was happening at the restaurant.

-0-0-0-0-0-

Being a long time mob enforcer, Shady Shin was all about respect. Well, mobster kind of respect: taken, not given. So, when he entered Earth Ben's and the good people of the city stiffened and suddenly dropped some bills on the tables and left, abandoned their queue at the counter and left, or just plain left, it fed his ego. It was too easy nowadays; the four goons he always had with him were just accessories.

His compatriots were sitting at a window booth, looking at him warily as he prowled towards them like a jungle predator. Above all, Shady Shin understood the nature of posturing. During his more philosophical moment, Zolt had said something of the like; _the most deadly gun is the kind that strikes fear unto your opponents, not the kind that strikes them down_. May hell take his rotten soul.

And respect, right there, when one of his men took a chair for him and set it at the side of the booth so Shin could sit and face the table. "Gentlemen", he tipped his fedora. The men braced themselves visibly and Shin's grin split his face. Two of his guards, understanding the cue, broke away and got out to stand guard outside at the door.

-0-0-0-0-0-

 _"What's this about, Shin?"_ one of the men growled. _"We don't got all night. Stuff to do."_

Asami nodded and gave a thumb up. Gommu balled the paper bag that held the rest of his dinner and shoved it inside his jacket. Asami went back to skulking with her phone and earwig, and Gommu peered out the railing with a small binocular. From their vantage point, he could see the front door of Earth Ben's and the window behind which Shin was sneering like a wolf at the men.

 _"Gentlemen",_ Shin was all silky and smooth; Asami wanted to gag. " _Didn't you hear the news? Zolt is dead."_

 _"Bet you're glad, real glad."_

Asami's bug picked up rustling; she imagined that last comment had elicited some unfavorable response from Shin's bodyguards.

 _"Really now, Ping?"_ Shin chuckled. _"Do you think so little of me? Zolt was my mentor. I am loyal."_

A disbelieving snicker.

 _"Well, me and my friends, that is_ ", a thud.

"He's putting something on the table", Gommu muttered.

 _"And, me and my friends have been going around a little."_

 _"Is— are those…? You sick son of a—"_

"Oh, fingers", Gommu said.

"What?" Asami hissed through the sound of commotion. Then, a buzz.

"Bug's gone?" Gommu guessed, still had not moved a muscle from his sentry.

"Yeah", Asami shot up, storing her phone. "I'll go get it—"

"No, I'll go. You've been there and made impression", Gommu stood up too.

"Master, it's a nice restaurant", Asami said flatly. Though, in his Assassin skin, Gommu had cleaned up quite nicely and somehow lost that unwashed body smell (Asami could not _smell_ him right now, not even his clothes; she made a mental note to ask more about this), there was still some traces of rough life on the street lingering on him.

"I'll manage", he said firmly, pulling up his hood. "One of Shin's men slammed one of the Triple Threat on the table; it must have loosened the bug. They've calmed down and are talking again, so I may have to destroy the bug. Shin's men are leaving."

"What?" Asami snatched the offered binoculars and, indeed, the two men posted at the door were leaving. "I'm gonna have to tail them, aren't I?"

"You _can_ be taught", Gommu laughed, taking back his binocular. "Spot me ten yuans?" he grinned. Asami gave him the money and he grinned again, leaping off the railing of the terrace.

Asami pushed off her hood, flipping her ponytail back. "Oh, hell", she muttered, unzipping her jacket and popping off the top three buttons of her shirt and tugged on them, showing some skin. "I hope I get to hit someone tonight."

-0-0-0-0-0-

Gommu remembered the time he was a young Assassin, freshly graduated from training. His master, that bastard, had sold to him the grandiose idea of being an Assassin: a killer who fight for what is right. He had not prepared Gommu for the reality of the boring and often more dangerous spycraft of it before dumping him in Fire Nation for training and he had the audacity to die in the line of duty shortly after Gommu had joined him, full-fledged Assassin, in Republic City, leaving the inexperienced Gommu the leadership of the Republic City bureau and four field operatives even less experienced than he.

Gommu wondered if the legendary Assassins of old had had to face a challenge such as his. True, many have faced worse; Ezio Auditore, Jayadeep Mir, Edward Kenway and his grandson whose name Gommu could neither pronounce nor spell (the one better known as Connor), Jacob Frye, all had, at some point, had to build or rebuild an entire chapter. Ezio had done it several times, that Renaissance overachiever. Gommu's struggle to reestablish the Republic bureau might not seem such a difficult task in comparison of _that_ regard, but he had to face challenges unlike any those old ones ever had: various modern surveillance technology.

Weaving through the crowd, making a beeline towards the restaurant, Gommu wondered if those old Assassins – like, say, Evie Frye - would have done as well avoiding cameras. Evie Frye was almost unanimously considered to be the stealthiest Assassin to have ever skulked, the stories about how she could hide in a bare empty room with a target inside with her was the stuff of legend (some of the geekish members of the Order speculated that Dame Frye had employed the mysterious precursor robes she and her brother had found underneath London), but even she was often found street racing with horse-drawn carriages (the city of London kept some newspaper records reporting 'property damage', 'risky youth behavior', and 'endangerment of lives' perpetrated by an 'unknown female in black hood') and causing a factory explosion or two.

Yeah, try _that_ in Republic City in 2017.

The street in front of Earth Ben's was a dead zone. Shin and his grinning face sitting facing out, it was no wonder. Some patrons who were ignorant of Shin's reputation and hadn't been around to see the small commotion he'd caused had trickled into the restaurant, which was good for Gommu. Bad for them. Still, Triads, for the most part, adhered to their pseudo-vigilante code of their origins: they extorted, blackmailed, vandalized, and stole from civilians, but they always avoided direct physical harm despite the portrayals in movies. Most of those movies were produced by Earth Kingdom people anyway.

Gommu took a menu flyer from the hanging pocket by the door and entered the restaurant, joining the short queue of two at the takeout counter. Pretending to study the menu, he looked around to the Triple Threats' table. Bless Shin and his arrogance, the thug had not felt the need to lower his voice and Gommu tried not to smirk because he entered at the opportune moment.

"—when they're ready", Shin was telling the table. "With the kiddies backing my claim and half the Triple Threats behind me, I am _the_ absolute uncontested nomination for the next leader. And so, I extend to you and your boys the chance to come onboard. Join me", he let the _'or else…'_ hanging unspoken.

The Triple Threats at the table exchanged a wary glance.

"Hi, how may I help you?" Ben was pale and sweaty but he braved a wavering smile.

"Crusted chicken sandwich, please", Gommu placed his money on the counter. "Double time? In a hurry. Hot date", he wiggled his eyebrows and grinned. Ben relaxed a little, just a little. "Oh, fire lilies", he sniffed the obviously plastic flowers and sneezed. Loudly.

It drew attention from the entire restaurant and masked the electronic fizz from the internal self-destruct function of the bug Asami had planted that he had just activated with his phone in his pocket. When Ben swept the floor tonight, he would find a loose button from somebody's shirt (the bug had the appearance of a black button) and the stickiness could be rationally explained by the fact that it'd been sitting on the floor for so long.

Apologizing lightly to Ben, ignoring the glare from Shin and his entourage, Gommu received his order and got out. Walking along the open street, he made several turns before slipping into a dark alley. He called Asami and she did not pick up.

-0-0-0-0-0-

"Hi, beautiful. Wanna hang out?"

Asami smiled sweetly, reaching out to her black band of a chocker in a sultry manner. And subtly pressed. "Sure", her voice came out masculine. "Buy me a shot, hot stuff?"

"Holy—" the dumb college kid stumbled into his friends. "What the heck?!" Lost for words, they staggered away, casting Asami a disbelieving glance.

Smirking like a cat who had just swallowed a canary, Asami tapped her chocker and resumed her blending in the crowd. She wisely elected to pop one button of her shirt back on; a look Korra had once coined 'Crouching Chest, Hidden Cleavage; sexy, not slutty'. The two goons ahead of her – she called them Big Bald Head (cause he'd got one) and Toothpick (cause he looked like one) – walked like they had a purpose. And it was up to Asami to find out what it was.

They'd walked for three blocks. Whatever Shin had wanted them to do, it'd better be worth the information Asami would get. And what was this about, anyway?

Up ahead, Big Bald Head and Toothpick made a turn and headed to the Bridge. The giant suspension bridge connecting Republic City and the outside world acted as a drawbridge over the moat that was Western Bay. Three lanes on the bridge corresponded with two big lanes of street of the city that stretched over empty, woods-lined land.

Asami had a bad feeling about this.

She slipped into the first alley she came across and put on her stealth mode. Her hood on, ponytail out over one shoulder, jacket zipped, she stalked the thugs from above. There were a good five or six blocks ahead, but the thugs did not stop anywhere there.

Asami mentally cursed when Toothpick pulled out his phone as they kept walking, heading towards the empty field that bordered the last building and the outskirt woods; these areas were the vagrants and homeless' territories and, technically, they were forbidden city property and civilians were not allowed in. Of course, everybody knows that most homeless people squatted here and the city did not care as long as they didn't cause trouble. Besides, as long as it kept the numbers of hobos inside the city low, nobody complained.

As feared, a van pulled away from the street and into the field. Hidden among the trees, Asami seriously did _not_ want to play ditzy-damsel-in-distress again. Approaching a dark van this far away from the city, deep in the dark where the only illumination came from the cast of faraway city light, they'd probably try to rape her and then kill and bury her in the woods. Not that she would let them, but she didn't know how many of them were in the van.

The van, when the door slid open to admit BBH and Toothpick, was full of men, so Asami chose not to risk her virtue. Besides, the van barely paused for a second before it moved again. Skulking low, Asami dashed from her hiding place and, light as a cat, leaped onto the back of the van, perching on the small strip of the foothold and clutching the side and the bottom fender, keeping below the tinted window.

She thought about climbing up the roof where she would have better chance of not getting thrown off, but she wasn't sure if she could do that without alerting the men inside. The perilous ride brought to mind a story she'd read in the Assassin Archive about one of the legendary Frye twins doing something like this, tailing a carriage carrying a serial thief-hypnotist by perching on the top of the carriage. Was it Jacob… no, Evie. Definitely Evie Frye. Jacob Frye, despite his merits, had left a legacy of cautionary tale; taking on a mentally unstable boy as a prodigy who turned out to be Jack the freaking Ripper who ended up pretty much decimated the London bureau, introducing Assassin rings as accessories which openly gave their enemies and the public an easy way to recognize them, not to mention the trail of destruction he had left as a youth. Evie had been more subtle. Asami could imagine the legendary woman pulling off this tail effortlessly.

Alas, Asami Sato was no Evie Frye. At the first turn, her gloved hand slipped and she stumbled to roll on the ground. Cursing, she raced after the car, skulking low below the window's line of sight. Times like this, a story about the Blue Spirit came to mind, of how the near-mythical figure once infiltrated a speeding carriage to kill a target without alerting anyone. Just drop from a rooftop right on top of the target. Well, the tactic he'd used was worth a try.

Crunching a clay sphere in her hand, she threw it to the side into the woods. It flashed bright, not enough to blind anyone behind the tinted glass, but enough to catch their attention. She zigged to the other side and, as light-footed as she could manage, planted a foot on the edge of the back of the van and hoisted herself up to the roof. She flattened herself up there, waiting with bated breath. She could hear nothing but none of the occupants inside the van showed any sign of noticing her either.

And this was better, she grinned, her hoods flipping on her face. From up here, she had a vantage point and could see where they were going. Of course, the road only went one way from here…

A toll station waited at the mouth of the bridge. Between the last of the woods and the station, a stretch of empty land and a military compound housing the gate guards. Those would be impossible to pass through the way she was.

She got to a crouch, readying herself as the end of the woods came in sight. And she jumped down the back. Rolling safely on the ground to her feet, and without stopping, she ran towards the woods. Of course, this far outside the woods, the trees were sparser, allowing movement without much rustling, though Asami still had pull her coat flat against her body, and the foliages were thick enough and lighting dim enough to provide cover.

She jogged to keep up and, to her dismay, the van drove further past the gap and across the compound. And there it was, the compound; wire fence with intervals of guard houses, Republic soldiers constantly patrolling along the perimeter in groups, and behind it, hugging the waterline, was a command post, barracks, and housing for families of soldiers serving in the Bridge Regiment, set up along the moat of the bay, fanning on the right and left of the opening of the bridge. The barrack and command center, sure, but the housing was not very strategic. However, in time of peace, no one minded it. And, in this time of peace, the Bridge Regiment had slipped from a serious force of city defense into more of a training regiment where fresh graduates from military academy were sent to experienced real military discipline before being transferred to other regiment.

It was a gamble. Asami tugged on her hood, making sure they were on, then she ran towards an unguarded patch of fence. God bless time of peace, the fence wasn't electrified or fitted with sensors. There were cameras and Asami, like any good Republic Assassins, was familiar with their placements. It was part of what Gommu called their 'advanced curriculum': familiarizing oneself with the security of certain public places in the city and how to bypass their securities.

The first break she caught was the fact that the security here was quite lax. The Bridge Regiment compund wasn't meant to be a line of defense against attackers or a border to keep people in; it was to house soldiers and keep their equipment, and the command center acted as a meeting place and the source of paper work and daily schedule. They had enough cameras and guards to discourage shenanigans and those were easy for Asami.

She crossed the compound easily enough and faced the biggest challenge yet.

The nearly one mile channel under the bridge.

She couldn't possibly swim all over (actually, she could and _had_ – the last time she would ever get drunk and skinny-dip across the channel; Korra still kept pictures for the purpose of blackmail). She really didn't want to swim across the water. She might need to stay dry to preserve her ability of stealth. How did Edward Kenway did it anyway? Infiltrating a Spanish galleon by swimming to it and skulking around the deck dripping water and still _not_ got caught?

"Drat… drat, drat, drat, monkey drat!" olive green eyes darted across the waterline from the top of the command center. She could see the van, the sole vehicle coursing through the bridge, stark under the light. The water on this side was bordered by wall with no visible access to it. The Bridge Regiment did not use water transport, not when they had two dedicated lanes on the bridge.

"Dratty crap…" Asami muttered and started to dash across the roofs towards the bridge. "Dear R&D", she rehearsed her next letter to the Order's R&D peeps in a heaving whisper. "Operative RCB 12-AS23 list of expended loads: one bug, black button…" she leaped down and scaled down the wall onto the ground. "One…" she dashed low, diagonal trajectory over the perimeter wall behind the barrack across the street. "…flash bomb", and leaped on top and over, hanging by the ledge. She pushed sideways with her feet and leaped, repeating the process as quickly as she could, heading towards the bridge. "Fifty yuans…" paused for a leap. "…bills of ten", another pause, "Possibly…" a pause then a leap, "…a pair of standard gloves", she stopped and exhaled sharply, ignoring her sweaty brows. "Has been awhile since last new equipment issued", she resumed her leaps. "Would appreciate…" she looked to check the distance, only a bit more. "…a freaking…" a leap. "…workable…" another. "…rope launcher attachment! _Oh, it hurts_ …" the last part was hissed on account of the stitch on her side. Oh, and her phone vibrated in her pocket. She ignored it, of course. No choice.

For someone who had served as long as she had with such distinction, Asami's gears were laughably standard. The HQ tightly controlled the distribution of each piece of equipment and supply; they decided who got what and how much or how many, and they rigorously accounted for each bullet fired, each bomb used, and each untraceable yuan spent. Asami had been deigned worthy of a second hidden blade (not standard, but not uncommon), cell phone (standard), untraceable credit card and cash (ditto), standard bombs kit (smoke, flash, crack, fire – five of each), a handgun (not very common in Republic City on account of the restriction on firearms possession), and the newest addition to her equipment was the infiltration kit (lock picks, electronic bugs, various glass globes containing chemicals like acids, chloroform, etc). Heck, the knife she had in her boots and strapped on her waist were her own.

She understood the reason behind such policy, of course – HQ would only issue gears to operatives who could be trusted to wield them efficiently or needed them for specific missions, and they must be trusted not leave any trace of them behind. Like why the painstakingly woven corn silk covering on the chloroform glass globes - an Assassin could squish it (the glass would break and chemical react but the glass would be trapped inside the casing) and throw it, then pick up the thing later without having to pick each individual shard of glass. But, still, Asami felt like a petulant child every time her resupply package came and didn't contain any new toy.

A little to the bridge, she noticed ladder rungs on the water wall above the water surface, perhaps installed just in case someone fell. Aiming carefully, she swung and dropped, catching the rung painfully. Grateful that she did not break a nail or pull her burning arms off their sockets, she carefully ascended.

The van had gotten quite a head start, but she couldn't think of that right now. Who knows how much time she'd spent playing monkey. Mindful of the guard post above the wall, she got up as far as she could without alerting anyone, and looked up. The underside of the bridge was riddled with bars and pipes she could use as handholds. She reached up, keeping her arms to the shadow as much as she could, and grabbed on. From there, she let go of the rungs and swung from under the bridge. Reorienting her front, she began swinging like one would monkey bars.

She didn't go all the way, heavens, no. She counted the swings in a set of ten and stopped after the tenth set; a hundred swings and she made a mental note to tell Gommu later and demand a praise. From here, she crept to the side of the bridge and climbed up the side. The van's taillight was a distance away, but still visible. She shimmied sideway and climbed up the lowest suspension curve. And then, she ran up.

Her arms were glad for the break, but the primal, life-loving part of her brain was screaming like a little girl as she, eschewing any obsession of safety, ran up the tubular surface while trying very hard not to think about keeping balance. She had a feeling that she would freeze and topple if she thought about how hard it was to keep steady. Or she would lose built-up speed and fall. Besides, the surface was wide enough. She probably couldn't even wrap her arms around it.

She reached the top on a square platform made metal grilles, stopped a moment to take her surrounding, a single bound to clear her way to the edge, and slid down like a snowboarder without a snowboard.

 _"One pair of standard boots",_ she mentally added her list of expenditure.

She repeated the process, taking more and more of the layout on the other side, keeping an eye on the van when she could. At this rate, she might reach the other side slightly faster. The van wasn't going fast, but then it was full of people. And she wasn't going to go Spiderman all the way.

No, at the last section, she dropped down and reversed the earlier process, giving the van more time to reach the military checkpoint at the mouth of the bridge. Monkey bar-ing the underside of the bridge and evacuating to the wall ladder rungs on the other side, and shimming sideways, hoping she got the right side. It wouldn't be funny if the van went the other way after clearing the checkpoint.

She climbed up to solid ground, limbs felt like noodle, around the same time the guards cleared the van.

"Oh, come on…" she had hoped the process would take longer and she could rest and catch her breath a little. She was so exhausted, she could literally feel her _lungs_ inside her chest, tightening like plastic bags going through the vacuuming process.

But, Asami Sato had been good all year and goodness is often rewarded. Her eyes were blurring from exhaustion and after a few lungful of air, despite feeling lightheaded, she noticed that she'd landed on a parking lot. Of course, the soldiers guarding the checkpoint had to arrive here somehow. Most of the vehicles were military trucks, jeeps, and there were a couple armed armored cars, but there were also several privately-owned cars and motorcycles.

Asami picked the white SUV.

Half an hour later, she'd fought through two leg cramps, swallowed the few mouthful left in a random water bottle she'd found in the glove compartment, thrown the bottle out the window to get rid of the evidence, and followed the van from a distance. She'd checked her phone after her arm muscles stopped twitching. Two missed calls from Gommu, which meant he was just checking on her, probably (if Gommu was in trouble, he couldn't have made _two_ calls). She tried to call back, but the signal wasn't good.

The van had led her past two small towns and showed no sign of stopping. Asami wondered how much longer were they going. She shivered and lowered the air con; she had blasted it full force, unzipped her jacket and unbuttoned her shirt all the way to the tucked part to air her torso out, drying her sweat. Now she felt cold and sticky, but at least she wouldn't drip sweat and smell too much, and when she re-buttoned her white shirt, her black bra wasn't showing through. Gommu had told her many anecdotes of how even the most experienced master Assassin botched a skulk because someone smelt them.

They coursed through the highway for another half hour and the van signaled left, turning into a gas station. Asami tentatively followed – her tank was half empty anyway – and parked at the line farthest from the van. She picked up the pair of shades she had found in the glove compartment and perched them on top of her head (nobody wear them at night!).

To her delight, all occupants of the van got down. Eight Triple Threats in suits (Big Bald Head and Toothpick included) and two boys.

-0-0-0-0-0-

There was a certain double-standard in the fashion world that, regretfully, influenced the style of Assassins outfit for females, born of the need to blend in. Gommu and his weapons and gears were hidden with his one jacket. Asami needed an outer coat or the bulge of the gun, knives, and the pouches of her belt would show. Being a girl, she couldn't just wear a thicker, baggier jacket like Gommu. No. Being a girl, even her Assassin outfit had to be form fitting.

Fashion is set by sexist jerks.

Often times, her coat presented a problem. If she had to infiltrate somewhere and was sure of her escape route and that she _would_ use it, she would drop her jacket along her escape route and pick it up on her way out. When she was going blind, she wore it with her and it could make skulking a bleech. Oh, and during _summer_? Yeesh!

The material was light and thin enough it flowed and swished when she made a sharp turn. She could gather it up and wrap it around her waist, tucking the end in her pants if she needed to; didn't make for a very impressive picture of a kick-a Assassin chick, but what could she do?

After driving away, parking the stolen car at the roadside motel next to the gas station, she doubled back on foot; all that after using the public restroom at the motel, of course, checking the interior of the lobby a bit and made note of the ATM machine.

When she came back to the gas station, the clerk raised a brow. With a charming smile, she said something about the ATM machine at the motel being broken and she asked if theirs worked fine. She withdrew some money, purchased an energy drink and a jam-filled bread, and asked to use the restroom. The last request earned her another raised brow, but her sweet innocent 'pretty pleaseeee' got her a patronizing smile, a leer at her chest (no longer 'Crouching Chest, Hidden Cleavage', that third button was off, her bra was actually showing and she had made the effort to puff up her breasts beforehand), and the key to the restroom behind the 'staff only' door.

Behind the door, a small space with three doors – at the sides and in the front. The front one was the toilet, the right one was open, housing the security station where computers and TV screens connected to their surveillance system, and the left door was labeled 'storeroom'. The left one was locked and the slit underneath shed no light. Asami pressed her ear on it and heard nothing. She entered the bathroom, locked it, and accessed her cell phone to hack the station's surveillance. She played the last few minutes of the recording of the van entering the lot, the occupants getting down, leaving only one Triad who Asami had seen leaning on the door of the van, smoking (at a gas station, really!), and she watched the group entered the store.

They had hung around when Asami was paying for her gas earlier; the men were browsing merchandise while Toothpick and another guy stood by the kids by the door outside. She'd left as slowly as she inconspicuously could. The kids, Zolt's kids, looked scowly. They weren't kicking and screaming, which was good. Maybe.

And now, not long after past-her vacated the premise, the Triads spoke to the clerk and went out. Switching to the outside camera, Asami saw them leaving the station on foot, walking into the woods that outlined the gas station and motel.

That was good info. Asami called her master, no response. She called again, same result. Storing her phone, she flushed the toilet, wet her face, puffed up her breasts again, for good measure, and got out. She returned the key, thanked the clerk sweetly, pushed down her shades (a simple trick Gommu had taught her – days from now, anyone who saw her tonight would remember her as 'the girl with the shades and the nice racks' and, should they one day get together and discuss, they'd get into a heated debate over the color of her hair).

Outside the store, she made a show of ignoring the Triad ogling her, while studying the man from behind her shades, and drank a couple mouthful of her bottled drink (God, she _needed_ that drink). She opened the bread wrapping and walked away towards the motel, taking a bite of it for show. She waited until the gas station cut the Triad's view of her before she started scanning the woods.

Dumping her empty bottle and bread wrapper (she _really_ needed those) in a trash can outside the motel, she circled around the back. Hidden in the darkness, she turned on her stealth mode. And she got to work.

-0-0-0-0-0-

"Bad reception round here", Gommu checked his phone for the umpteenth time. His driver, a fellow Assassin, grunted his response. The hood of his blood-red-trimmed black outfit hid his face, but not his frame; tall, straight-backed, leanly muscular like a swimmer.

"Wonder why", Gommu sighed, sounding bored. An act.

"Military paranoia", the other Assassin's voice was smoky without actually sounding deep. "Landline works along the road, outside the towns. Gas stations, diners, motels. Those were monitored."

Gommu snickered. "Templars."

"Actually…" the other Assassin started, but Gommu raised his hand.

"Motel up ahead. Park there."

"She's there?"

"She's near."

-0-0-0-0-0-

Shady Shin arrived not long after. The Triads waiting with the kids had started a campfire on the clearing in an empty barrel that awaited them. They'dd roasted weenies (the smell made Asami hungry) and fed the boys. Through it all, the boys had not spoken a single word.

They were far from well-behaved boys, Asami knew. Zolt's Triad career was a public secret but the media had focused solely on his public face of a successful entrepreneur (an unspoken rule of courtesy afforded to the Triads by the media). Zolt's sons – the elder was ten and the younger nine – had made news a couple of times and one of them was when they beat up another kid so bad, he had to be sent to the ER. Well, guess daddy's demise had some effect on their black little hearts. Or maybe just the uncertainty that was their future now daddy dearest was no longer protecting them from the world.

When Shady Shin arrived, grinning with arms wide open, the boys visibly shrunk.

"What? No hugs for Uncle Shin?" Shady Shin's grin slowly melted. Into a cruel sneer. "Come hug Uncle Shin, boys."

The fear was palpable in the boys' faces as they exchanged a quick glance. Hesitantly, they walked towards Shin, accompanied by the goons' snigger, and hugged the man's wrist.

"There you go, not hard, isn't it?" Shin patted the boys' head. With a hand on each boy's shoulder, he marched them closer to the campfire. "Men", he addressed the goons. "Tonight, our revolution starts!"

They cheered. The boys flinched.

"Tonight, we march to the city with our little princes in front and South Republic Triads at our back!"

Asami nearly fell off the branch she was perching on. South Republic Triads had allied themselves with Shin?! Not good.

"Tonight, we will sweep the other… _lesser_ contenders of our Triple Threat!" the men cheered. "We will crush the Terra Triad!" the cheered again. "The Agni Kai", again, while Asami recounted the opponents; ten excluding Shin. "The Water Blues Triad!"

The younger boy cried. No, that was too kind. He bawled.

Shin scowled. "I'm talking here", he shouted over the noise and succeeding only to make the other boy cry. "Show some respect!" he raised his hand.

Asami's hidden blade slid out.

But the two other Assassins were much faster. The one in gray leaped out of the bush, zipped past the goons, right onto Shin's back, his double-bladed knife held in his right hand, blades jutting out of the top and bottom of his fist, bit into Shin's shoulder. The other, clad in black, lunged from the other side of the clearing just a second behind the first one when the other goons had been distracted, and downed two at once with his two hidden blades.

Asami dropped on one thug, ending him with her hidden blade; her other hand fired her gun at the nearest thug. A Triad fell in front of her, he would have shot her had it not been for the throwing knife finding his neck, thrown by the dark hooded Assassin.

Shin was screaming on the ground, alive but incapacitated, tendons of his wrist and ankles cut by Gommu. The Master Assassin was already on his feet, evading knife slashes by two thugs. He weaved between them, light on his feet, and swung his right arm. His hidden double blade, pivoted in the middle, spun like propeller and sliced the neck of the two goons in one move. He caught the blade by middle part, the handle, wielding the weapon like an Emei piercer, shoulders hunched as he scanned the scene.

Asami had shot down another two, still perching on her first victim like a possessive lioness. The other Assassin had made a quick work of the rest with his bare hands, landing well-aimed jabs and kicks that snapped joints of elbows and knees, unhinged jaws. Gommu moved to the kids and knelt down, muttering comfort while making sure their backs were on the dark Assassin; the latter engaged his hidden blade and executed his fallen victims, whispering benediction to ease their passing. Then, he and Asami cleaned up – checking the dead goons for info, gagging Shin so he would stop screaming, retrieving spent throwing knives.

Gommu stood up and nodded at the pair of them. He led them out of the woods wordlessly, herding the boys by the shoulders. Asami and the other Assassin at his rear, dragging Shin between them. Keeping her battle mode, Asami tried, oh, _so_ hard not to glance at the dark Assassin. He was the third field operative she'd met on the job, but there would be time for curiosity later.

Near the mouth of the woods, Gommu stopped them and they moved sideways. The other Assassin jogged ahead out and towards the back of the motel. He disappeared as he rounded the side and appeared on the road up ahead with a sedan. He relieved Shin off Asami, dragged him to the open trunk, knocked him out with a hook and stuffed him inside. Then, they entered the car and drove away.

-0-0-0-0-0-

Of course, the little monsters rallied.

Took fifteen minutes for them to calm down and mere five seconds to start throwing tantrum. Gommu and the other guy, sitting up front. were spared the hassle. Asami, sitting at the back with the kids, had to struggle to keep them from screaming, demanding to be taken home, and then they started kicking. And biting.

Asami liked kids, really. Her personal liaison with local schools sometimes got her to do some science demonstration at kindergartens and elementary schools, and those kids were sweet. The Storm kids, even with all their hyperactivity, were a _delight_ and she never minded when she had to babysit them for Tenzin and Pema.

These two? They didn't just push her to the limit. They made her snap.

"Oh, my— did you just—" the dark hooded Assassin gawked. Asami had cracked a chloroform sphere and applied it to great effect.

Gommu sniffed and though his eyes were hidden under his hood, a little smirk was tugging the corner of his mouth. Heaving and snarling viciously, it took a moment for Asami to—

"I know that voice… Iroh, is that _you_?"

-0-0-0-0-0-

Asami plopped on her bed and groaned. How she would kill for a chance at a hot bath. But, it was three in the morning and Korra was asleep. Her room had a private bathroom with a shower, but the only bathtub in the apartment was in the shared bathroom. There would be noise.

At least, she had showered and was comfy in her tank top and boy shorts. And around two dozen heat patches stuck along her arms, shoulders, thighs, calves, and two on the soles of her feet. Those helped, but she was still aching all over.

Scaling the underside of the Republic City Bridge, running up and down the side supporting cables… she should've just swum.

She wondered what would happen to those kids. Wait, no. Not really. Those little monsters were nasty enough before Zolt's death and the trial they'd gone through didn't improve their personalities one bit. Asami was more interested to know what would happen to Shin.

Iroh had driven them back to the city and Gommu had commandeered the car at the underground parking lot of Little Ba Sing Se where he dropped them off, telling them they were done for the night. Gommu had said that he'd take care of the incoming South Republic Triads himself and dismissed Iroh and Asami's protest; he was the Master Assassin and bureau leader, he outranked both of them.

Still, the night had not been all unpleasant. Finding out one of her friends was an Assassin had been an unexpected delight. Iroh had asked Asami out on a date right there and then.

No, not like that.

They'd gone to the movie theater at Little Ba Sing Se and taken a selfie (Assassins outfit off, in Asami's case, or they'd look weird with somewhat matching jackets) in front of a random movie poster currently playing that day ( _Great Wall of Ba Sing Se_ , which Asami, Korra, Mako, and Bolin were planning to go watch this weekend), then had dinner for real at a Water Tribe noodle place and taken more selfies and pictures of food, then a stroll at the City Park where they took selfie sitting at Asami's usual bench, making sure to include Gommu's bush in the background just to annoy him. Then, ever the gentleman, Iroh had walked Asami home. And watched her climb back into her room through the window.

In the morning, Korra would've seen those pictures on Iroh's page (which was meant take care of Iroh's civilian cover; being a dedicated military officer, General Iroh didn't have much of a social life outside his workplace but he _did_ work with soldiers, military advisors and analysts – people who were _trained_ to notice if Iroh went off at night for no good reason), but Korra didn't need to know that those pictures were taken only hours earlier. And Iroh would be smart enough to cover for Asami should Korra get nosy.

She groaned again. The heat patches helped, but she knew she would get really _really_ sore in the morning. And she had to go to work and all. That double espresso at their dinner 'date' had seemed like a good idea at the time. Now, not so much…

Three hours to kill before her alarm went off, too sore to do anything like, say, write her mission report. She sighed again. Adrenaline rush long gone, coffee buzz clearing her mind. She was sore but she had some range of movement. A distraction from the pain would be nice. Something that'd get the blood flowing and take her mind off of things.

Now, where did she keep that optimistically-sized rubber penis?


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5 – Initiation**

Disclaimer: I own nothing

* * *

-0-0-(Yu-Dao-1 BSC)-0-0-

Iroh had waited for and feared this day.

Lu Ten had been the greatest delight and pride in his life and losing him had hit him hard. Very hard.

Resigning the entirety of his old life – his royal birthright, his wealth and stature, and even his position with the Assassins – Iroh had travelled to Ba Sing Se with his nephew, who was dishonored and exiled over what would've passed as petty argument in other normal families. Ozai, who had succeeded Azulon as Fire Lord, had not thought Zuko's forcing his way into a meeting of the Military Council, speaking out of turn to criticize a general, and brazenly accepted Agni Kai challenge as righteous teenager steam that it really was.

No, it had to be an insult to Ozai himself. And Ozai just had to fight the Agni Kai –Zuko, bless the boy, had thought he'd be facing the general, not his own father. Zuko had begged for forgiveness and refused to fight, infuriating Ozai further, and Ozai had to teach him a lesson by beating him up and throwing him off the ring where he'd cut off Zuko's top-knot in front of the audience; virtually a disownment. Naturally, it'd left Zuko bitter.

The journey in exile had been harsh, but life in Ba Sing Se had been good. Their rise from Lower Ring to Upper Ring had given Iroh, who still wore his mantle of a White Lotus Assassin out of sheer sense of duty, a perfect position to keep a finger on the pulse of Earth Kingdom domestic politics. It'd put him in a perfect position and, when the order came, he'd dispatched General Hwang and evaded an all-out war.

He was sick of war.

Now, living in Yu Dao, he'd been once more contacted to keep the peace. Fact was, with the inconstancy within the Colonies, the Order's presence and influence there was negligible. Templar's grip was strong though; they strived in chaos, after all. The Council had spoken and they ordered - beseeched, even – Iroh to, once again, take on the mantle of Mentor and build a chapter to safeguard the Colonies.

For cripes' sake, Iroh felt too old for this.

President Morishita, longtime ally to the Order, was a great friend to have in this endeavor. Some Assassins and White Lotus agents had also joined Iroh, most had already positioned themselves in the high echelon of power. Their network was still new and relied on trusted couriers and messengers, which was too risky for Iroh's taste. And it was too soon for that anyway.

No, Iroh knew what to do. The first thing was, of course, training field operatives. A claw without talons can only do one thing: get broken.

Zuko and Jet would be the first.

And they were frighteningly good.

Their skills at free running came as no surprise to Iroh who knew about them all along. He knew that Lu Ten had been secretly training Zuko and Azula at running, jumping, and climbing like Assassins, and Jet had more experience running from law enforcers than anyone in the Colonies.

Their fighting skills, also not shocking. Jet had been bragging about the contest he and Zuko had going. Zuko even talked about it with Iroh, usually when he lost ( Iroh would then give him advice and taught him some moves for the next time).

Their skills with Assassins' weapons took some effort, but after a year of training, they had become quite good. They could rival any soldier out there. Not enough to take on a true weapon master, but good enough to impress them.

Other complementary skills like herbal knowledge, poison crafting, wilderness survival skills, crafting of weapons and gears from things they could find in nature; both were equally bad at it. But, Iroh supposed they would always had him for now and there'd be time to polish those skills.

Their skills at stealth, that was where the boys diverged.

Zuko, never a people person, excelled at skulking in the shadows. He often snuck into the constables precinct and even ventured out of Yu Dao and infiltrate various Fire Nation and Earth Kingdom encampment to test his skills. Each occasion of it would give Iroh a heart palpitation, but also some nice sketch of the fortification and layouts, and, on some occasion, nice trinkets like a completely legit Earth Kingdom military seal.

Jet, the devilishly charming boy, could blend easily into a crowd. He knew how to read people's mood and atmosphere better than he could a children's book (he was semi-literate, so…). And he knew how to tame or incite the crowd, which he'd done several times. Iroh never liked it when Jet joined some workers' strike and incited the masses to commit anarchy, but Jet had ways to talk people into doing things or giving him information. And, to be fair, Jet had used this exact skill to find out that the chief of the constabulary had been taking bribes from the Triads and, after passing the information to Iroh, President Morishita had fired the man and imprisoned him. Which was good because it allowed the Order to put an agent in that position.

And the boys were still at it. The contest.

Their score was an even 45-45. Ten more matches before the grand tally.

Yes, Jet hadn't abandoned his Freedom Fighters. It was the greatest source of worry for Iroh.

When Iroh offered Zuko a chance to join the Order, he had extended the same offer to Jet. It was the wise thing to do; Jet was bound to demand it, anyway. This way, Iroh could keep a closer eye on him. Jet had promptly requested that his Freedom Fighters would be accepted also. Iroh had declined, stating the need of anonymity and secrecy, and how dozens of kids would attract too much attention. Jet had then asked if he could just accept a few of them, Iroh had still refused. The Assassins never employed too big a group of operatives, anyway, had been his reasoning. A lie, of course, but he had convinced Jet somehow.

So, he trained only the two boys.

And, again, it was frightening how good they were.

It'd been less than a year and already the boys were close to the finish line. Iroh trained them in the Fire Nation tradition, where those who were ready received what they deserved (unlike Earth Kingdom's more rigid structure that set timeline; their initiates trained for five years in a well-defined, almost military curriculum). And the boys deserved their initiation.

Tonight.

They were excited about it when Iroh told them, even Zuko in his usual quiet way. Then, Iroh crushed it by telling them what their initiations would entail: murder. Cold-blooded murder.

Jet blanched. Zuko grew very still.

Iroh had expected it.

Despite his bluster, Jet had never been in a real life-and-death fight before. He'd been in many scuffles with the constables or with other small gangs, even with soldiers, Iroh granted him that, but Jet had _never_ fought alone. He'd fought people bigger than him, yes, better-trained, better-equipped, in great disadvantage, but he'd always had his friends by his side and he'd never killed. And never had to worry about being killed. Gangsters didn't kill if they could help it and soldiers would give kids like him a beating but never harm them too much, not on Colonies territory where it'd be an incident that led to war.

Zuko was no stranger to a real fight, having been involved in some during their travel across the wilderness of the Earth Kingdom. And, in an honest one-on-one fight, Zuko could match anyone; proven to a great effect when they'd run into Zhao during their exile and Zuko had ended up challenging Zhao to an Agni Kai and _won_. But, through all that, Zuko had always had Iroh by his side, offering advice and assistance.

Iroh offered them an out. "You have until dinner to think about this", he said. "Know that you don't have to do this. You've learnt much this past year. With the skills and knowledge you have accumulated, you can already do much good in the world without having to be an Assassin", his stare steeled over Zuko, especially.

Iroh stood straighter. "War is looming in the horizon, there's no use denying it", he said. "There will be good people who need protection, people like President Morishita, and they'll happily accept you into their fold. The constabulary force, also a good option."

The boys exchanged a glance.

"Your training is officially over", Iroh said. "Take today off to think about your choices."

He left the boys in the basement of his teashop. Because this final step had to be voluntary. It was the Fire Nation way.

Iroh went through the rest of his day like usual. He went back to his teashop, brew a few pots of tea, chatted with his regulars, played Pai Sho with a few friends at the shop. Then, in the afternoon, he went up to his apartment upstairs and cooked dinner. He made sure to cook the boys' favorite.

Because tonight, they might die.

He prepared a couple of crisp new set of robes for them. Identical white hooded robes with a simple red sash, a pair of ash gray boots and wrist bands, and a thick gray shoulder mantle bearing the White Lotus Assassins symbol on the back: an ornate Assassin triangle with the White Lotus emblem in the middle.

And he prepared their weapons, each symbolizing his assessment of their strength and weaknesses: a pear-handled dagger for Zuko, the shadow warrior, and a detachable dual dao sabers for Jet, the fierce sentinel.

Satisfied, he got to his own room and extracted a bundle that carried his own gears. He exited his teashop and headed for the temple in the graveyard. He had no one buried here; his beloved Lu Ten was conferred with honor back in his homeland.

Inside the hut-sized outhouse of a temple, he sat in a seiza in front of the statue of Most Merciful Mother. He felt old.

He was in his sixties already. Old and tired. At this age, Pakku once joked, people like them should've retired already, no longer carrying the weight of the world, and the only weight they had a right to was that of their grandchildren bouncing on their knees. Well, that bridge was burnt.

He opened his eyes as the nightfall bell rang. He stood up, safe inside the dark sanctuary, and began pulling on his uniform. Ash gray shirt and pants, darker gray boots, gray metal-plated armor that used to be faded silver once open a time, and a hooded shoulder mantle of faded white that had the hood rimmed by thicker cloth, to add the weight, and bore the White Lotus symbol on the forehead in gray (Jeong Jeong once commented that Iroh's Mentor outfit was like Lotus Sentry's snow uniform). Once upon a time, the gray and the white had stood stark enough against one another. Now, they'd pretty much faded and blended. Iroh wondered if _that_ had anything to do with the philosophy of the Mentor position.

The last part he put on was his old bracers, hidden inside his wide sleeves. Old trusty friends, the both of them. And there, sitting on the bundle cloth, tucked beneath his gears as they usually were… Lu Ten's old pair of hidden blade bracers.

He picked them up. They felt small in his old hands. And, after tonight, they would hopefully serve new masters.

-0-0-0-0-0-

There was a cliff overlooking Mo Ce Sea outside Yu Dao. Iroh had taken Zuko here the first night they arrived. From up here, one could see the entire city and hear the faraway bustle of its life on the side. And before them was the mighty Mo Ce, the Ghost Sea, the vast body of water that was the Colonies maritime gateway of international commerce.

Iroh had secretly been hoping that none of the boys showed up; part of the reasons why he chose a spot outside the walls for their Initiation Ceremony. When both Zuko and Jet showed up, solemn in their hooded white robes, he was both proud and heartbroken.

He sure hoped losing one son is the limit of any fatherhood.

They stood with their hoods and cowls on, only their eyes, brown and amber, piercing through the shadows of their hoods were visible. Jet wore his saber strapped to his back, managing to look intimidating despite his lean built, and Zuko, the clever boy understood that his dagger was meant to be hidden and Iroh couldn't even guess where he kept it.

"Initiates", he began. "I don't need to tell you about the political condition of Yu Dao. You live in it. I won't need to explain that there are people who would profit from an all-out war, people who must be removed. We are Assassins, the Thorns of the White Lotus. We kill", he said the last part bluntly. "In the city, there are two targets: an Earth Kingdom arms dealer by the name of Gashiun, a desert-dweller who is about to strike an under-the-table deal with the Beetle Head Metal Factory; the second, Captain Poon, former warden in his homeland, Fire Nation, now serving as a captain of Fire Nation Embassy Honor Guards, a cruel sadistic man who enjoyed torturing women in the local Pleasure District, and truly a diplomatic incident waiting to happen."

Both men were Templars, but Iroh wouldn't tell them that. Assassins seek knowledge, not wait for it to simply appear.

"Jet, your mission is to kill Gashiun and derail whatever deal is to happen between Gashiun and the Beetle Head Merchants. Doing so will prevent countless weapons to make it into the war. You methods are up to your discretion", Iroh said to Jet, then to Zuko. "Lee, Captain Poon is yours to dispatch. Be aware that he is a Fire Nation soldier, granted diplomatic immunity by merits of his station. It won't be as simple as slitting his throat. Remember, we seek to preserve peace, not cause a conflict", Zuko nodded at Iroh's words.

Placing a hand on each boy's shoulder, Iroh spoke in the Desert Tongue. " _Ge wa'tha me'a beesam. Ma'i yoru b'raesa s'trika toru_ ", and translated. "Go with my blessing. May your blades strike true."

-0-0-0-0-0-

Leaping from rooftop to rooftop, Zuko wondered if their initiate garbs were designed to make things more difficult for them. To further test their skills at stealth, maybe. Crisp white with gray trims, the garbs were nothing more than pants, loose garment, wristbands wrapped under the slightly wide sleeves, shoulder mantle with a hood and a mask, and boots, all made of heavy cotton. At least the sash kept the waist snug and he could move easily. Very easily. He would still stand out in the dark, though.

Pleasure District was what people called Jawwa District. The entire district was a collection of wooden houses built on a vast platform standing on stilts, situated over the northwestern marshland. From his vantage point, high on top of a four storey wooden building, the tallest establishment around, Zuko could see the entire District. The place reeked.

The smell of swamp, rotted wood, and unwashed bodies mingled with the scent of burnt incense and tobacco and who-knows-what-else. It was nauseating enough for Zuko to press his mask on his mouth and nose. He was told his target would be easy to find. That part was true, at least.

Poon, a heavy-set man that reminded Zuko of his uncle – short, stout, meaty arms, protruding belly – was in his Fire Nation glory. Red armor, mask-less helmet, and surrounded by three other soldiers who were younger, taller, fitter, but no more sober. Together, they staggered drunkenly across the path between houses and Zuko mentally winced. Nearly half the houses here, at the waterfront area, were taverns at night. Some were whorehouses. Others, both.

If Poon and his goons decided to enter any of those, they might not come out until morning. And, yep… Fate loved kicking Zuko in the nuts. He closed his eyes and sighed when one of the men yelled something incoherent, pointing at the rowdy building to their left, and together they entered.

Oy…

Having no choice, Zuko climbed down his building. He landed on the backyard and found clotheslines with hanging laundry. Pilfering a hooded moss green cloak, he put it on and set the cloak hood over his, pulling down his mask. Calmly, he circled the building, set upon the path, and entered the tavern after Poon.

-0-0-0-0-0-

In his usual clothes, brown tunic and dark pants, with rust-colored vest and a pair of metal pauldrons, Jet sauntered across Dragon Flats Borough, a stalk of wheat in his mouth. He was _sure_ stashing his normal clothes to change into during mission was not cheating. It wasn't like Old Man Mushi said he couldn't do it.

Besides, Lee'd got an easier mission. Favoritism, Jet said. Lee only needed to kill his target; Jet had to make sure his target was dead and the deal fell apart.

"Jet! Jet!"

Jet stopped and turned around. Smellerbee and Pipsqueak came running towards them. "Hey, Jet", the girl said. "Are you done with your Assassin—"

"Shh! Pipe down!" Jet growled though his clenched teeth. He looked around. "Not now, guys. I'm on a mission."

Smellerbee's eyes widened. "Cool! Can we help?"

Jet frowned, not even considering it. "No", he said. "I'm supposed to do this alone. Go away, guys."

"Oh, come on, Jet", Bee whined. "We're the Freedom Fighters, aren't we? Let us help!"

"I'm supposed to do this alone", he rubbed his head impatiently. "Go away, before I got flunked or something."

"Come on!"

"This isn't a game, Bee", Jet snapped. "Go back!"

Smellerbee flinched. Pipsqueak frowned. "Come on, Smellerbee", he said. "Old Koyashi's shop needs some cleaning (read: stealing), anyway."

Smellerbee scowled but she turned and stomped away after Pipsqueak, looking very offended. It made Jet feel guilty.

"Guys…" he called. Bee simply snapped back. "See you later, Jet. We won't wait up."

"Guys, come on. I'm sorry, okay!"

They ignored him. Jet watched them disappear into the crowd. Growling in frustration, he turned back to the looming metal factory belonging to the Beetle Head Merchants Association.

"This better be worth it."

-0-0-0-0-0-

Technically the block where the Jasmine Dragon sat had no basement. Underneath the block was a vast room that supported the entire eight buildings, but accessible only through the Jasmine Dragon. It was Iroh's command center, the base of his operation. It held rows of books and scrolls, containing precious records and information, knowledge passed down through generations of Assassins, and more up-to-date leverage in writing (like a seditious letter from Fire Nation General Shinu to Earth Kingdom General Fong that, should it came to light, would get both generals branded traitors); the most impressive collection of weapons, armors; fully functional training area with several punching bags, training posts, even shooting targets; and, in the far side of the room, a rock-lined pool that ran, according to Iroh, all the way to the sea.

They also had numerous foldable chairs, tables, beds, and some fancy silks sheets, curtains, and crates that they could stack and arrange to simulate walls, and fully-stocked provisions with utensils. Iroh used these to teach them what he called 'situational assessment' lessons. That'd be where he would play a target in a simulated room and Jet and Zuko would assess the room, finding weak spots and assassination opportunities like, if the target was a religious person who prayed before sleep every night, they could hide in a closet or behind a curtain and strike when the target was praying, or poison his goblet if he was a cup of wine before bed type of person.

The tavern Zuko had infiltrated was more difficult than that. For one thing, Iroh had never taught them what to do if the target was drinking and being rowdy in a room full of people, drawing attention to themselves (his uncle always warned them to strike only when the target was alone, whenever possible), or when the target was a Fire Nation soldier whose appearance had stopped the activity inside said room for a full two minutes, and even now the rowdiness was a bit more subdued just because he and his goons were here.

"Barkeep! Another!" one of them called.

Zuko lifted a cup of sake to his mouth, pretending to drink. This was the sort of establishment that didn't care to whom they sold their fermented liquid, as long as the buyer paid. Poon was laughing heartily at whatever his men said, a shapely barmaid on his lap.

Then from the second floor, a middle-aged woman wearing fashion that was decades younger than she was came down the staircases. Behind him, a man tying up his belt. Oh. This was _that_ sort of place. Zuko saw a sliver of opportunity opening here.

Fortune smiled upon Zuko. Poon certainly thought it did him when the madam, after making a show of scanning the potential and hopeful crowd, approached Poon. Yes, this was _that_ kind of place, the fancier kind, where the establishment got to pick their clienteles. Grinning and giggling like an idiot, Poon let the madam lead him by the wrist upstairs.

Zuko smirked and put down his still full cup. For show, he took the bottle with him and placed a couple more coins on the table before getting out. Outside, he turned to the tavern and studied the two storey building. The back was facing the sea and it presented an opportunity, if Zuko was lucky. No, no luck. He'd studied this as part of his training. Buildings in this area usually built their sleeping quarters with windows to the sea, to cool them down during hot summer.

Looking around, making sure he was clear, Zuko moved to the side of the building, a small alley that was open at the end to the water. The whole building – the whole district, actually, platform included – was built of lightweight but durable bamboos and planks, not a single stone in place. It made for smoother walls, with nothing but parts here and there where ropes were used to tie the bamboos together. It'd make scaling a bleech if not for Zuko's knife.

Stoppering his sake bottle with a wad of cloth cut from his stolen cloak, Zuko stored the bottle inside his pocket and climbed to the roof of the adjacent building, a one-storey bar. From there, he jumped to the side of the tavern, stabbing his knife on the bamboo. The blade pierced a tube and held there. Strugglingly, Zuko reached over the corner to the back wall where a torch post was fitted. Pleasure District relied on illumination at night to sell their businesses and every building had torch posts installed outside their walls, on the sides of their doors and windows.

As Zuko pried his knife loose, swinging around the corner by the torch post, his uncle's words came to his mind. It wouldn't be as simple as killing Poon. The soldiers downstairs would make a fuss about their countryman found dead in a Colonies whorehouse. Fire Nation would want answers.

Also, in all their training, Uncle Iroh always told them to 'see beyond' and he meant all the possible ways of it; see beyond opponent's moves in a fight, see beyond the plan and tactics to the why they do it, and not just the what.

So, why did Poon deserve to die?

Because he mistreated local working girls. Well, he wasn't the only one. Wasn't the only foreigner who did it, wasn't the only _man_ who did it.

Why did Poon deserve to die? Zuko thought to himself as he scaled the wall with his knife, feet planted on the slippery bamboo, peering over the first open window he came across; a man and woman sleeping it off, nothing to see, move along.

Moving to the next window, Zuko wondered if there was more to Poon than meet the eyes. Should he go beyond his mission. Yes, of course, he had no doubt. But, first, the mission. Always the mission first.

The second window. Indescribable. Zuko would have nightmare tonight about what he'd seen in there. The third window made him want to go celibate (oh, the poor cabbage!). The fourth was empty and in the fifth, the screaming of the mistreated girl made his blood boil. The sixth and the last, that was where he found Poon.

The room was small and bare except for a simple dresser, a small bed, and a small table with one chair. The floor held a rug and, even from outside, Zuko smelt the musty odor. The curtain, secured to the side, was a thin lacy cloth. Poon was still grinning like an idiot, hands running up and down the tall slim girl's waist. The girl smiled seductively, slyly taking Poon's hands off.

Clad in Fire Nation red tube top and long skirt, baring the midriff, the girl showed her flawless milky skin and her untied long hair fell to her lower back, curtaining the side of her face, so Zuko couldn't see it aside from her curving mouth. Her voice though…

It brought back the memory of home. That voice… gravely and throaty, like one barely ever used. The voice that Zuko loved so much, it had matured into something unrecognizably familiar, just as much as her figure had matured.

Zuko felt cold down to his limbs.

That voice had changed, but he'd still recognize it anywhere. It was Mai's.

-0-0-0-0-0-

Beetle Head Merchants Association was asking to be mocked. Seriously, with name like that. And with conduct like _that_.

Oh, they were big, yes, and extremely successful. They'd been around for decades, starting out as a caravan escort company, they'd soon decided that it'd be more lucrative to get into the travelling economy themselves. Beetle Head Merchants Association dared went to the far reaches of the Earth Kingdom, establishing trading route and bringing exotic goods from those far reaches places to the rest of the Kingdom. And heavily taxing anyone who used their established route.

They were rich enough to establish factories, markets, and auction houses in nearly every major cities in the Earth Continent. In Yu Dao, they owned four factories and a dozen warehouses in the Wharf. But, they treated their manual labors like dirt.

A short walk around the metal factory, still running at night, told Jet all he needed to know. The noise was something the neighboring citizens had grown accustomed to, thanks to Triads hired by the Association to 'calm' the masses. And the workers' lodging next to the factory? The empty rundown building Jet and the Freedom Fighters had made their base was a palace in comparison.

And he made that his arena.

"Aren't you all sick of this?" he roared, standing on top of a vacated table in the center of the workers' house. The men cheered. "Aren't you sick of being treated like pigs?!" they roared again.

"It's time we fight for your freedom, my friends!" he rallied. "I say we march down there and made those fat-arsed _insects_ listen to our demands!"

"Yeah!"

"It's time to demand what is rightfully ours! Who's with me?!"

All of them. And then some.

Outside, they ran into citizens who lived nearby, Jet whipped them into frenzy ("Don't you want to be free? To be able to sleep in your own house without the noise and the fear!"). The Triads employed as guards trembled in fear when the rabble approached. They dropped their sticks and ran. The mob swept in, rallying the workers inside to join them. Jet was already up, hanging outside the office window on the third floor, spying on the meeting inside.

Two Beetle Head merchants were inside, with four Triad goons behind the locked door.

"Madness!" Beetle Head One spat. "How would this look to Gashiun when he arrives? We can't control our own workers?"

So, his target wasn't here yet.

"We must send messenger to Gashiun. Tell them the meeting is postponed", Beetle Head Two said.

Jet smirked.

"Yes, hurry! You! You go to Water Front Inn and inform Gashiun. Immediately."

"Me?" the Triad whined.

"Yes, you! What's the matter? We're paying you, aren't we? Go, now!"

Jet skulked deeper in the shadow as the door was unlocked. The goon came out, gripping his stick, and dashed across the catwalk. He looked over the railing to the work floor downstairs where the mob was screaming their demands. He gulped. Jet was tempted to push him over the railing and go to Water front Inn himself, but he'd already formed his plan without even realizing it. He'd need this guy. Besides, despite the frenzy, actual death might disperse the mass. Such is the fragility of people's intention; the reason why the Templars had wielded chaos and violence so effectively against the common people.

It took awhile for the slow-minded goon to decide that he'd gamble with climbing out the window. And he was clumsy. He tried to climb down, holding on to the open window ledge, and his foot slipped. Jet heard his whimper as he kicked against the wall, flying to the adjacent building, which was the workers' house. He heard the sound the goon made as he landed on the shorter roof, heard the clang of dislodged tiles.

It was Jet's cue to start moving. He watched the goon, having survived the fall, clumsily leap down to the street, wary of the crowd. Jet waited until he ran ahead a few meters away before he leaped out the window like phantom and landed on the roof of the workers' house in a nearly soundless roll. He ran across the roof, leaping onto another roof, and began tailing the running Triad thug from above.

Never once did he lose sight of the thug, even after he had to descend on the street to follow him through the downtown crowd where a man running on rooftops would look too suspicious. Water Front Inn, despite the name, was located in the center of Yu Dao. It was a fancier inn, built in original Yu Dao architecture style (which was a combination of Ba Sing Se circular shape and Caldera multi-tiered pagoda), painted icy white with blue trim. The thug was still so rattled that, despite being Triad, he let the doorman disarm his stick.

Jet frowned, his plan slightly altered. Taking off his saber, wrapping the cord around it as nicely as he could, he strolled easily towards the entrance. The guards stopped him, of course.

"No weapons beyond this point", his voice was as deep as he was big. Which was to say, very.

"Well, yeah, but that guy who just entered, he forgot this", Jet showed him the saber. "It's a gift from the Beetle Head Merchants Association, he was supposed to bring it?"

"No exception, boy."

"Well, okay", Jet sighed. "But, just so you know, if the Beetle Head get upset, they'll blame that guy. And that guy's a Triad and _they'll_ get mad for sure. If any of those unpleasantness splash on you, don't blame me", he shrugged and turned, ready to leave the blanching doorman.

The doorman stopped him. "Okay, alright. Get in and be quick."

"Of course, sir, thank you", Jet grinned. And he hurried inside.

Really, he ran.

A server carrying a tray of beverages was a stroke of fortune. "Thank you!" Jet said as he snatched a glass on his way up to the stairs; the thug from before was halfway there, clearly he'd stopped by the lobby to ask for Gashiun's room.

Another stroke of luck.

Jet expertly tripped on the steps, catching the man's waist while holding his glass, spilling nearly the entire content of it on his butt. "What the hell, kid?!" the thug demanded; from his body language, he was about to kick jet down the stairs.

So, Jet reached towards him with a "So sorry, sir!" and spilled the rest of his drink on the front of the man's pants. "Clumsy me!" he nervously patted the man's shirt with his wet hands, making more mess. "Uh, you look like you've had an accident", he said, ignoring the man's glare. "Bathroom downstairs", he impulsively grabbed the man's wrist and dragged him back down. "You should clean yourself, sir", he exclaimed, stopping in front of said bathroom door and opened it for the thug. "Need my help?"

The thug reddened fast, all but steaming from his ears as he moved through the door. "Just stay away from me, you brat!"

"Suit yourself", Jet grinned, handing him his empty glass and closing the door.

He waited for a few seconds and strode to the lobby. There, he inquired about Gashiun's room and made his hasty way to said room. Whatever about to happen next, he was on an unpredictable time limit.

So, naturally, he wrapped a piece of cloth over his mouth and nose to conceal his lower face, pulled out his dao, and kicked the door open. Gashiun and four men were inside, obviously wrapped in Si Wong Desert garbs of loose clothes and bandage-like wraps for shoes and bracers, and some sort of turbans.

Gashiun, the only one sitting in a chair, cross-legged, overcame his surprise fast. Jet didn't; Gashiun was his age.

He'd been expecting a hypothetical evil man. Evil _Man_. Not a boy his age.

The desert dwellers took advantage of his hesitation and advanced; none were armed in the safety of their inn room. Jet flinched and brandished his blade. His first kill, a stab on the gut, was a complete fluke. And there he was, expecting the first blood he drew to be a culmination of a hard-won duel.

To top it all, he dropped his blade in disgust. Eyes wide at his bloody hand, he wasn't prepared for the tackle by the two advancing men. On the ground, he curled up as kicks rained down his body.

"He killed—" Gashiun looked green at the fallen man. Turning to Jet, his face contorted into an ugly rage mask. "Make him suffer!"

More kicks rained down Jet's body, making him cough and he tasted blood. Gashiun gingerly picked up Jet's blade and the men dispersed as he approached. One of them closed the door and locked it. No eyewitness.

"I don't know who sent you, but you die now, dog", Gashiun seethed, raising the dao.

"Wait!" Jet raised an arm, halting him. Looking up, he felt himself grin. "Beetle Head send their regards", he said right before he spun on his back and kicked up to the side, catching the two men at his side on the jaws as he launched up feet first.

He folded and landed on his feet. The third man, standing behind him, caught him. Jet's folded his legs up as Gashiun, roaring, advanced, and kicked him with both feet, sending Gashiun to the other side of the room; the force staggered the man holding him back to the wall hard. Feeling the grip weakening, Jet whipped his head back on the man's face. Now free, he elbowed the man on the face and lunged ahead in a roll, avoiding the other two that were rejoining the fight. He caught the dao Gashiun had dropped to the floor.

Separating the joined blade into two sabers, he roared and lashed out at the goons. The two men fell with a cry. The one who'd held him was still clutching his broken nose; Jet kicked him hard, he rattled the door he was leaning on and bounced back to him. Jet finished him with a spinning kick to the jaw, knocking him unconscious.

Then, he turned to Gashiun. The boy's eyes were wide, terror in his face.  
"Wait!" he screamed from the floor. "Stop! Let me go! I'll pay you!"

"Start paying then", Jet snarled. His gum felt prickly. He held a saber to Gashiun's face as the boy took out his money pouch and presented it to Jet. Jet gave him a look and pushed the blade closer. Gulping, Gashiun began patting his pants with trembling hands. He emptied his pockets of everything he had, including a ring that caught Jet's eye, and put it in the pouch. "I want more."

"I-I don't have more! Please, spare me!"

"What is your business with the Beetle Head Merchants?" Jet growled. "Who else is involved?"

"Wh-what? I thought you—"

"Answer me!"

"Arrgh! Alright, alright!" Gashiun cowered, arms raised over his head pitifully. "The Beetle Head Merchants are supposed to strike a deal with the sand people. T-to secure their desert route a-and transport their goods from Ba Sing Se to the Colonies! Weapons and the likes! That's all I know, I swear!"

 _Ba Sing Se…?_ "Who else is involved?" Jet demanded.

"I-I don't know!" Gashiun trembled. "W-well, s-several sand tribes are in on it. H-here!" he rummaged his tunic and pulled out a small scroll. "I-I was supposed to give this letter to the Beetle Head Merchants and wait for their answer. Please, that's really all I've got!"

Jet rejoined his blades and took the scroll – it bore no insignia. Storing it inside his tunic, he relaxed his stance. Gashiun exhaled a shuddering breath of relief.

"Thank you", Jet said earnestly. And he slashed.

He closed his eyes right before his blade bit across Gashiun's neck.

Sheathing his dao back, Jet knelt down, reached for Gashiun's head and shoulder, easing him to lie on his back. "I take your life not out of malice. Let go and rest in peace", he waited until the sand youth stopped twitching and he closed his eyes with his bloody hand.

From his boot, Jet pulled out a tassel – braided and woven white silk thread, painstakingly formed into the shape of the White Lotus symbol, dangling on a short braid. He dipped it in Gashiun's blood and let the red seeped into the white.

Then he rose a former initiate.

He didn't remember how he'd gotten out, only that he'd used the window. Next thing he knew, he was panting heavily next to a stream in the woods, furiously rubbing blood off his hands in the water. He didn't even realize his eyes were wet.

Then, he was on his back, panting, looking up to the night sky.

Dinner seemed like years ago. Quiet and rather intense, he and Lee had been in their initiate garbs and in argument. Mr. Mushi hadn't been there – the first time he had a meal upstairs without both Mr. Mushi and Lee. Drawing a few lungful of air, Jet got up. He wasn't far from where he'd hidden his garb, he should get it first, and he unthinkingly took out his loot. Mr. Mushi hadn't said anything about interrogating Gashiun first, but he was sure the old man would appreciate the initiative.

The pouch was quite heavy and Jet was hoping that Mr. Mushi would let him keep it; it'd help feed his Freedom Fighters for a couple of weeks, at least. Rummaging the pouch, he took out various trinkets – an emerald pendant bearing the shape of a beetle, a small circular carved rock that looked like four Pai Sho pieces stacked together (he realized that it was an official seal later), and the ring Gashiun had pulled from his own finger. Unlike the other trinkets, the ring was a band of a shinier gold. And it bore the symbol of a cross.

Jet felt his mouth part. The Templars Cross.

He fished the scroll out of his tunic frantically and opened it. Two small palm-sized pieces of paper had been rolled in it and they each bore a portrait; of Mr. Mushi and Lee from way back when – when Lee's hair was short and Mr. Mushi was a little thinner. He read the scroll fast.

"Mr. Mushi… Lee…?"

-0-0-0-0-0-

Zuko tried not to breathe too loudly, which was hard. Still hanging outside the window, he was very tempted to just jump into the room and cut off Poon's fingers one by one. But, that'd mean confronting Mai after all these years (Dear spirits, he hoped it wasn't Mai, just someone who looked and sounded like her), and he just knew there'd be yelling.

"Stay", Mai practically purred. "I'd be right back with more wine."

"Don't be long now, pretty", accompanied by a drunken cackle and a meaty smack. The last sound lanced through Zuko's chest like a burning icicle.

Trying hard to control his anger, Zuko reached up to the torch post right beside the window and pulled himself up, angling his torso so he was out of sight, but on the level with the window. Another torch was on the other side of the window and Zuko prepared his kill.

He took off his stolen cloak, twisting it into a long rope and trying it around his waist to the torch post, forming a harness. He prepared his knife on one hand and held out his sake bottle in his other hand. He threw back a mouthful of the sweet alcohol and spit-sprayed it on the other torch, like a fire acrobat would do. The fire roared loudly enough and the flame flared up brightly enough to draw Poon's attention.

And Zuko waited, flattening himself to the wall, knife ready.

Poon unsteadily looked out, poking his head out. Zuko's knife lanced through his throat. Before he could do anything else, Poon's meaty hand grabbed his collar and pulled him in; Zuko's harness dislodged the torch and pulled the burning apparel inside with him. They all collapsed to the floor.

Kicking the burning torch and the harness from around his legs, Zuko scrambled up. He'd lost grip of his knife and found it still lodged in Poon's neck. The man's face was draining fast but he looked equal part surprise and furious. That man was a monster from Zuko's nightmare. Poon let out a choked wheeze that would've been a battle cry had his throat not been pierced and he lunged towards Zuko with two stride across the small room. He caught Zuko and slammed him to the wall. For a very short second, Zuko was worried the entire building would collapse; it being made of bamboo and all.

Poon held on, pinning Zuko to the wall. Zuko gritted his teeth, willing himself not to make a sound. As long as he didn't cry out, no one would know that a murder was in progress.

Yes, they were in a pleasure district where the entire area was constructed of fastened bamboo. Yes, fastened bamboo floors and walls, while safe enough, easily allowed slight swaying and trembling of a structure when enough force applied. And _yes_ , lechers in Pleasure District often made joke about 'rocking a woman's world' and, spirits, yes, a rough enough lovemaking might actually rock an entire house. Or, at least made everybody else who were in contact with nearby walls and floor to feel very awkward.

Elbows not working, Zuko could only braced himself when Poon wheezed and slammed him to the floor like a wrestler. Still holding on to his sake bottle, and not realizing it, Zuko inadvertently spilled it on his own face. In this case, a good thing; it kept him from passing out. With the pivot on his back, his feet were free to get on Poon's gut and kick him away. Poon crashed on the durable bamboo bed and struggled up like a drunken turtle.

Back to his feet, Zuko waited for Poon to come rushing again. This time, the bottle smashed against Poon's temple; didn't slow him down one bit. It halted his charge, the hit being close to his eye, but Poon kept charging and rammed Zuko with his shoulder. Zuko hit the wall behind him and bounced back into a mighty hook that sent him spinning and crashing to the floor. Then a weight crashing on him informed him of Poon's still ongoing attack.

With the big man straddling him, Zuko could only tilt to avoid the punches. Poon grabbed Zuko's neck with a two-handed choke and pull him up to his feet. He pushed the boy to the window, bending his spine against the frame and pushing his head out, choking the life out of him.

Then Zuko realized he was still holding on to the broken bottle. Just a small stub, but the jag was sharp enough to pierce the side of Poon's neck where it joined Zuko's knife. Poon stepped unsteadily back and Zuko fell to his one knee, gasping for air.

And truly, Captain Poon was monstrous fighter. He'd fallen on his butt, hands clawing his neck. Zuko noticed too late that, in his desperation, Poon had grabbed the still lit torch from the floor. And smashed it against Zuko's face. The left side of his face, where he'd spilled most of his sake.

Screaming as flame ate his flesh, Zuko barely registered Poon catching him from behind, using the shaft of the torch to choke him. Zuko clawed his face to no avail, his other arm elbowing Poon's ribs mercilessly, but the man wouldn't let go. Zuko's scream died down into sobbing breath as his the pain of his burning flesh miraculously subsided. His left eye had gone dark and his entire vision blurry and stung with tears and sweat. Reaching up, Zuko patted along Poon's head and found his eye. He pushed his thumb in. Poon screamed and let go, and Zuko felt his weight leaving him. Gasping, the pain of his searing flesh returned, he turned to Poon; the man, weak on the knee, staggered on the spot, holding on to the window frame for support and the torch like a sword.

Zuko hissed. "Rest in peace already, you son of a dog", and he tackled the man out the window, falling with him. Into the water below.

They would find Poon's room empty afterwards. No Poon, but they'd find shards of ceramic bottle and the smell of sake. The window was open and floating under it in the water was a fallen torch. Poon would wash ashore days later with the rest of the ceramic bottle lodged in his throat. The authority would rule his death as a freak accident: fallen in the room while holding a bottle (which explained the reported ruckus), had a big broken piece of bottle stuck in his throat, tried to get up but somehow fallen out the window (maybe he slipped on the sake on the floor) and to his watery death, but not before catching a torch outside, trying to hold on. Obviously, he fell anyway.

Jet, who'd arrived in time to witness Zuko and Poon fall out the window, had played an innocent eye witness and spun the story for the tavern, turning up his dramatics so they wouldn't believe him. He'd stormed out when no one would listen, sure, but they remembered his story when they found Poon later. It was enough.

Besides, Jet had to fish Zuko out fast.

-0-0-0-0-0-

Zuko hissed when the stinging pain lanced through his face. When he opened his eyes, he'd caught Jet's wrist. The other boy's face was set, light from a flame flickering on him, washing his pristine white garb amber. Zuko groaned and got up, hand went to his face without thinking. He hissed again when he touched his burnt skin.

"It's bad, isn't it?" he rasped.

"Is your eye still good?"

"I think so", Zuko felt very thirsty. What hit him wasn't the pain in the burnt side of his face; it was the numb on the other side of his face. "I got mine."

"No, _I_ got yours, you dumbass", Jet threw a bloody circular tassel to Zuko's lap. "I climbed up to the room and got the blood from the floor."

"It's just formality, Jet", Zuko sniffed. "You?"

Jet dangled his own bloody tassel.

"They're Templars, do you know that?"

"Should I?"

Jet turned furious. "It's sick, Zuko! Your uncle's sending us to kill _Templars_! Us! Initiates!" he looked queasy. "It's sick. H-he's sick. Sick!"

"So?" Zuko snapped, trying not to feel queasy himself. "You always talk about fighting for freedom. For all your big words, the only thing you've ever truly done was that time you stole food on the ship to Ba Sing Se! All the other things you and your gang've been doing here is just play, Jet! _This_ is the real deal!"

"Don't you think I know that!" Jet screamed. "But, this… this is _murder_ , Lee. Can't you see that! We're murderers! We murder people!"

Zuko sneered. "But it's worth it", he challenged. "In the end, it'll be worth it."

Gradually, Jet's jaw hardened. "You're right. By the spirits, you're right, Lee", Jet shuddered. "It's worth it."

Zuko exhaled and it too came out a shudder. Strugglingly, he got up. Jet too got to his feet. The small campfire sat between the two boys in white hooded garbs.

"It's worth it", Jet repeated. An affirmation.

Zuko lifted his hand, his tassel dangling from his fist. Jet copied him.

"We're finally there", Zuko grinned savagely.

-0-0-0-0-0-

Iroh stood where he'd stood when he let the boys go. They'd gone proud and tall, ready to conquer the world. Now, they've returned, beaten and bloody, stain of dirt and blood on their no longer pristine robes.

And Jet was supporting Zuko.

Zuko was sporting a large burn scar over nearly half his face.

Iroh waited for them to approach and present him their bloody tassels. The old man nodded and held up the pair of hidden blade bracers that had once been his son's. "Initiates, hear my words, wisdoms of your forefathers."

Still supporting each other, the boys looked back bravely.

"Where other men blindly follow the truth", Iroh fitted one of the bracers to Jet's right arm where he still held his tassel. "Remember…"

"Nothing is true", the Earth Kingdom boy whispered.

Turning to Zuko, Iroh fitted the second hidden blade on his left arm. "Where other men are limited by morality or law, remember…"

"Everything is permitted", Zuko rasped.

"Thorns of the White Lotus, stand fast", Iroh continued, accepting the tassels finally. "Roots of the White Lotus, hold strong", and tied them to his belt. "We work in the dark to serve the light."

The boys intoned. "Blades in the dark. Traceless. Knives in the crowd. Faceless."

Iroh finished. "We are Assassins."

And the Mentor led the Leap of Faith over the cliff. They boys, Assassins, leaped after him.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6 – The Stalk**

Disclaimer: I own nothing

* * *

-0-0-(Republic City-January 2017 ASC)-0-0-

Assassin operative Asami Sato would hereby note that following a man to the basement of his house was _not_ a good idea. Ever. Now that that was out of the way, she followed Iroh to the basement of his house. The fact that she _knew_ Iroh was a killer sort of made that earlier point moot; or not, since Asami was a killer herself. It evened things out, maybe?

Despite both being Fire-Nation-trained Assassins, Asami and Iroh had never met as initiates; not surprising since Iroh was eighteen years her senior and must've been an Assassin for years before Asami even begun her training. They'd met for the first time not long after Asami was initiated. She was eighteen, had just returned to the Republic to start her teaching job, and moved into the apartment with Korra. Their first night as roommates, they'd gone out to celebrate with Mako and Bolin, ended up drunk, and Korra convinced them to go skinny-dipping at the channel under the Republic Bridge.

General Iroh was the Commander-in-charge of the Bridge Regiment at the time and he arrested them. Luckily, Korra, personal acquaintance of the general, smoothed things out. The still slightly drunk Asami had tried to flirt with Iroh, which was awkward, since Korra, the bleech, explained to her that he was thirty six years old when she was sober enough in the morning.

Asami totally blamed it on the alcohol. And the fact that Iroh, despite his age, could totally pass for college senior. Then again, being the son of the current Fire Lord, he must've inherited his family gene of good skin and youthful look; her mom, Fire Lord Izumi, was _gorgeous_ , graying hair and all.

They'd met a few more times, usually during Christmas time when Future Industry would host its annual gala, inviting prominent members of the community and business partners, including General Iroh (the Industry had government contracts), where Asami Sato would dutifully attend as the heiress of said company.

They were friendly. They _were_ friends, definitely. Though, Iroh rarely hang out with the others aside from joining them for movies weekend now and then, mainly because of his dedication to his military career. Now, Asami knew better. Like her, he must've been doing his Assassin business at night.

However, even standing here at the heart of his base of operation, Asami was still struggling to accept the idea that Iroh was _an_ Assassin. Straight-laced, stone-faced, goody-two-shoes Iroh (Korra's words) was an Assassin. Iroh, who wouldn't even let Korra sneak a sip from the adults' glasses at the Christmas gala (the girls had been eighteen, at the time), went out at night and killed people. Well, killed Templars, sure, but Templars were people too.

"So, what do you think?" Iroh stood at the base of the stairs, hands in the pockets of his trousers (Asami never saw him out of a tucked buttoned down shirt and trousers, ready to go formal simply by adding a tie and a suit jacket). And this was definitely the first time she saw his shoulder hunched and he swayed a little in his feet. If Asami didn't know any better, she'd have thought Iroh was _nervous_.

"Well…" Asami realized her mouth was parted open. She stepped down the stairs slowly, taking in the basement. Iroh lived off-base on a, as Bolin would put it, nearly waterfront townhouse, only one parallel street away from being waterfront. This basement, Asami figured, was simply too big for Iroh's house; it must've encompassed the entire block. The size was almost as big as a basketball court, perhaps bigger if Iroh cleared out those whatever that was under the canvas, stacked neatly along the walls. "If you tell me one you've got a Batmobile under the canvas and one of the walls opens to the tunnels that lead outside the city, then I'd be impressed."

Iroh smiled and Asami _now_ believed Korra's story that she'd flirted with him under the influence of alcohol. And no, she nearly missed that step because her heel sort of caught the edge of the stair, not because her knees suddenly turned to jelly. No. Honest. Shut up.

"I hide my gears under my bed", Asami commented, standing in the middle of the room, looking around. "That hardly seems fair", she pouted at the mannequin torso that held Iroh's Assassin outfit; lightweight, much like hers but with blood red trim.

She hesitated when she went to touch Iroh's hidden blades, laid neatly with his other weapons on a table next to the outfit; Assassin's gears were sacred. Iroh nodded, giving her permission. Asami picked one bracer up and felt jealous instantly. "Not fairrrr!" she whined.

Iroh chuckled.

He had _attachments_ on his bracer.

"Mist spray and liquid squirt", he said.

"Liquid squirt?" Asami snickered, watching Iroh pick up his other bracer and fitted a metal-framed glass cartridge filled with clear liquid in the attachment chamber.

"More useful that you think", Iroh frowned, looking serious. Five seconds later, Asami realized he was making a joke and punched his arm. He smiled. "I've got marker, acid, pepper spray."

"Chloroform?"

"Too risky. A wind blowing the wrong way, it'd fly to my face instead. I usually used this for tagging. Or melting door knob."

"And this?" Asami noted the small attachment fitted on the other side of the blade that wasn't present in the other bracer.

"Dart launcher", Iroh said. "Close range only."

"How close?"

"Very."

"Still…" Asami eyed the bracer enviously.

Iroh chuckled again. "We've all heard of the female operative who took down Slum Side Syndicate single-handedly, with only a comb, two smoke bombs, a toothpick, and her hidden blades. Never in a million years would I think that was Miss Asami Sato."

"Okay, first of all, I also used duct tape. Very creatively, don't ask. Second of all, thank you", Asami smirked. "So, what's the story about this place?"

"Well", Iroh sighed, looking around. "My mother owns the place. Officially, this is one of the several incognito houses the Fire Crown doesn't own in the Republic. Now, if you believe the story, this place used to be the Blue Spirit's base of operation."

Asami snorted. "He's from like two thousand years ago", she said. "How's this place not dust?"

She couldn't miss the light sparking in Iroh's eyes. "Well, the stones used to build this place is Precursor."

"Wait, really?"

"Or the place itself _is_ a Precursor site", Iroh tapped his loafer on the floor. "You can't really see it, but according to legend, they will react when you bring an artifact inside. I don't think anyone's ever tested it, but the fact that not a single surface even has a crack should tell you something."

"Whoa…" Asami looked around with a new light. Her inner geek was begging to be unleashed.

"And, I thought maybe, you know…" Iroh sucked his teeth and grimaced; Asami really never saw this side of him. "Your… gears would look good right over… there?" he nudged his head at the vague 'there'. Next to his mannequin.

Asami gaped then let out a single laugh. "Why, _Mister_ Iroh Kai, are you asking me to move in?" she smirked and yes, she knew she sounded flirty and, no, she didn't want to discuss it. "This early in our relationship?"

He grimaced again. "Please say yes", he whispered. "It would get my mother off my back."

Asami giggled. Then, she straightened up and smiled sweetly. She decided she liked sharing this secret with Iroh and seeing this many new sides of him. "I would love to…"

" _Would_ ", Iroh winced as if that word hurt him.

"Buuut…"

"Here goes."

"As much as it would make my life easier too, sharing it with someone like you, Korra would be lost without me. And you know it. That girl's a mess."

-0-0-0-0-0-

"Hey, Mako. Sorry for calling you at work."

 _"No problem. What's up?"_

"Uh, is it not okay to microwave canned soup?"

 _"It's_ never _okay to microwave canned soup. What did you do and how bad is it?"_

"…Naga made me do it."

-0-0-0-0-0-

"Oh, rejection", Iroh placed a hand on his chest.

Asami giggled and tiptoed to peck him on the cheek. "You'll survive."

"That's it. Dinner, now. My honor demands it!"

"Chauvinist", Asami still giggled and let him headlock her to the stairs and turn it into an embrace by the shoulder.

They were just friends, really.

-0-0-0-0-0-

"No, really", Asami sighed exasperatedly. "It was just dinner."

"And a movie. And a walk in the park. And you helped him shop for clothes."

"His sister's coming on a diplomatic visit!"

"And what's this about adopting a puppy together?"

"There was nothing about any puppies!"

"I know, I'm making that up. But still! _Iroh_ , Asami! He's… _old_. Girl, you've got daddy issue."

"I do _not_ have daddy issues!"

The subsequent laughter made it very hard to decide if Korra was just teasing or she was actually concerned that Asami had been dating an older guy.

"Besides, we're in our twenties now. It's okay to date older men. We've built immunities to the cooties."

"Well, yeah, but… _Iroh_!"

"He's a dear friend and you know it, been so since we were… what… seventeen? Eighteen? You know, that time when Tenzin brought Meelo to that charity ball and he pooped in a vase?"

"Tenzin pooped in a vase?" Korra gasped.

"Meelo, you simpleton", Asami kicked Korra's thigh.

"Hey, I'm aiming!" they were playing _Republic Mission,_ a shooter game, in their apartment. Loser had to do the dishes.

"Iroh is a sweet guy", Asami wished she would stop defending Iroh. It wasn't like they were going out for real. "You know that. Besides, he doesn't look that old— what did you just make me say?! He is _not_ that old!"

Korra just laughed as Asami screamed into a throw pillow. And threw that pillow at her head.

"He is _not_ that old!" oh, the burn on her face.

"Twenty years", Korra grinned.

 _Eighteen!_ Asami didn't grace that with a response. She simply crossed her arms and pouted. And drew her legs up, slightly curling into a tight ball like little girl. Korra, still playing with a smirk on her face, let her simmer in it.

Then, the Water Tribe girl spoke. "I just don't want you to get hurt", she said with a certain tenderness that she only showed when the girls had a heart-to-heart; not a common occurrence nowadays.

"I won't", Asami grumbled. "Ow… ow! Cramp!" she hissed as the muscle of her right thigh tensed up and the leg shot out. "Ow…"

"Big baby", Korra paused her game and let Asami fall to her lap, patting her bare shoulder. "Let it pass. That's it. Good girl. And you see what I mean? You're always getting hurt."

Asami didn't reply, too busy enduring the pain; her short athletic excursion across the bridge was two days ago and her muscles still felt tender. Besides, she enjoyed having her hair stroked. Korra was good at it, probably all that practice with Naga.

"And who knows", Korra added. "Maybe this is all just a phase", she said. "All these men in your life. Mako…

"You dated Mako, too."

"That guy your dad set you up with…"

Asami grunted.

"Mako again…"

"How are _we_ still friends with Mako? You dated him twice, too."

"We like Bolin, he came with Mako as a bonus, I dunno", Korra shrugged. "And Mako's useful. He gets us out of parking tickets."

"True."

"Well, anyway, I'm just saying, maybe you need to go through this. Date some guys. And, maybe, someday you'll wake up and realize that you're into girls after all. I'll be waiting then. You know where I live."

Asami chuckled. Coming from anyone else, she'd be freaked out. But she knew that Korra… well, to say that Korra was a bi was like saying _Star Wars_ was a movie franchise; not as simple as that. Korra didn't love men _and_ women. Korra simply loved. If the object of her love happened to be a man, cool. If it happened to be a woman, ditto. The only type Korra couldn't love was anyone younger than her; she'd just instinctively go big sister on them.

So, when Korra said something like that, Asami actually felt flattered. Besides, clad in their national home uniform of tank top and shorts, Korra was very pleasing to the eye; even Asami admitted it.

"Want another massage?"

When Korra found Asami after the mission on Shin, Asami had slept through her morning alarm. She had been concerned about Asami's state and the numerous heat patches on her, totally not believing Asami's story about how she 'slept wrong' ("How the hell would that make you hurt like eighty percent of your entire muscles!"), but she didn't ask further. She'd helped Asami to the shower and returned to Asami's room to find her on the bed in her towel. She'd dismissed Asami's insistence that she had to get to work ("If you can dress yourself without face planting on the floor, you can go to work." " You meanie.").

That was when Asami realized that Korra had changed out of her pantsuit and back to her usual homey tank top and shorts. And she had a tube of Water Tribe ointment with her. The ensuing deep tissue massage had been very nice, Asami had to admit, thought it did involve her letting Korra had her way with her, with only a towel to protect her dignity, not a good odds.

It did remind her that, like her, Korra was a prodigy; finishing advanced classes in medical school by the time she was old enough to drive (though Water Tribe medical courses were different and students got to practice the craft alongside real professionals at second years, which counted as residency). In fact, Korra was licensed to practice in both Water Tribes, trained as EMT in Republic City, and was a certified masseuse. God knows why she went to work as pencil pusher for the embassy.

Money. She did for the money. She once told Asami that with the upkeep for a clinic if she opened her own practice, or against all the pressure if she worked for a hospital, the money she'd earn was not worth it. Working at the embassy, she only made slightly less money, the hour was better, the benefits were wonderful, and she'd have diplomatic immunity.

"Come on", Korra patted her arm.

Asami squirmed. "No. I'd enjoy it too much. I can't be hold responsible of what I'd do."

"Party popper."

"And you'd comment. And you'd get handsy."

"So? Come on, it's not like I've never seen _those_ before. We're already at the stage where wax each other."

"…Okay."

-0-0-0-0-0-

Korra had commented on how nicely rounded Asami's butt was, among other body parts. And she'd gotten handsy, indeed, which made Asami squirm. Korra had said it was to get her blood flowing. That aside, Korra did give an excellent massage; grip like a metal crane, that girl.

Asami woke up to her phone beeping, face down under her blanket. Completely naked. Korra was _that_ good a masseuse; she'd have to convince her to open a massage parlor, or teach a class. They'd be rich.

Iroh's message on her Assassin phone was: _found it_. He'd attached their selfie at the park. Gommu's bush in the background.

Asami only tripped once getting out of bed after replying hastily. She showered, used her good soap, scrubbed furiously to get rid of the menthol smell from the ointment, and when she got out her room, Assassin jacket unzipped under a more casual looking coat, totting a backpack stuffed with her bracers and knives under a set of civilian clothes, she froze. So did Mako and Bolin.

Then the siblings started cheering and applauding like monkeys. Asami mentally face-palmed. "Korra told you."

"Nope", Mako grinned. "We just friended Iroh on online?"

"Korra! She's going out!" Bolin shouted. "Makeup, nice clothes, overnight bag, and everything!"

A muffled commotion later, Korra emerged from her room, hair dripping wet. Squealing, she rushed to hug her roommate. "Remember, you don't pay for dinner. He's rich and gentleman."

The boys took that as permission to go big brothers. "You have money for cab?"

"I'm taking my car, Bolin."

"You wanna borrow a switchblade?"

"Mako, you're a cop."

"Yeah, but… I can't _legally_ lend you my handcuff…"

"That's not what I— Korra, did you just slip condoms into my back pocket?"

"And some pills. You know you shouldn't put out without protection. I thought I raised you better than this."

"I am _not_ going to— We are not— Urgh!"

"Hey, what's this on your back?"

"What— no!"

Too late. Korra had already pulled out Asami's gun before the latter could squirm away. "Careful, it's loaded!"

"Whoa… _girl_!"

Asami winced and couldn't help but steal a glance at Mako.

Mako, the police officer. Of RCPD. RC, as in Republic City, where ownership of firearms was strictly forbidden. Calmly, Mako took the gun from Korra, and checked the sight, the lock, the chamber, the magazine like a pro. "Nice. James Bond's gun. I've always wanted one", he re-secured the gun and handed it back to Asami. "I'm so proud of you", he gave the bewildered girl a quick squeeze. "Now, go already. You don't wanna keep him waiting."

"We won't wait up", Bolin added some kissy noises as they dragged Asami to the door.

"Knock 'em dead, girl" Korra grinned. When they started singing the Republic Anthem with perfect opera voices, Asami slammed the door at their faces.

-0-0-0-0-0-

"So I can't borrow—"

"No."

"Stingy."

Iroh smirked, tapping on his computer in his basement. Unlike Asami, his Assassin jacket was off though everything else was on. Except for his bracers and his Sig, still lying on the table. "Here", he pushed away a little from the table, giving space for Asami to lean.

"This isn't— wow, you used military satellite?" it showed bird's eye video recording of the main highway outside the city. A convoy of five vans were coursing along the road when suddenly the lead car suffered a visible explosion underneath. It skidded to stop, halting the procession. Then, from the woods at the sides, flashes of light erupted – gunshots, lots of them. Some people made it out of the vans but they didn't manage more than a couple of steps before they were cut down by bullets.

"Let me guess", Asami muttered. "Guns and bullets from Amon's caches? Stolen using intel from Gripper?"

"His mugging you was a coincidence?"

"Not a happy one, but yes."

"Huh…" Iroh shrugged. "Well, it's all good. We struck quite a blow on their war effort. And we found out about their war effort."

"Are you trying to give me a compliment?"

"Trying to butter you up, actually", Iroh swiveled on his char to face Asami.

Asami sucked her teeth, grimacing. "Pleasure or business?"

"Both."

"Pleasure?"

"You know how my sister is coming…?"

"I'm gonna have to meet her, am I?"

"Mother sends her to spy", Iroh sighed. "I'm almost forty, Asami. They are worried."

"I thought you never date because you're saving yourself", sometimes, Asami's mouth was faster than her brain. "N-no, I mean…" she ignored her blush and Iroh's smirk. "You're the heir to the Fire Throne. You can't just marry anyone. Dating seems pointless."

"I'm not inheriting the Throne", Iroh shrugged lightly as if absolute power was something he gave up regularly. "And now, business", he typed into his computer and brought up a different series of entries.

At the center, a profile. A pale-faced, dark-haired man with diagonal lines of burn scars. " _Amon_? You're the one they assigned to Amon?"

"Yes."

"A biggie?" the Big One. Big Mission. That was what Assassins called a high profile target that couldn't be taken out directly; they had to work their way up the food chain, building momentum, killing off his minions fist.

"Biggest I've been assigned to", Iroh clicked one of the smaller portraits under Amon's and they blew up; five different portraits of men and a woman. Amon's associates and/or underlings. "So big, in fact, that I might just have to request a partner for this one."

"Oh, got anyone in mind?" now Asami smirked.

"Yes, actually. There's this guy I worked with once—"

"Pick me!" Asami laughed, punching the man's arm. "You're weird when you're joking around."

"Should I stop?" Iroh raised a brow.

"No. Weird's good", Asami smiled sincerely. "Like a bulldog riding a skateboard weird. Good weird."

-0-0-0-0-0-

"How did you meet a hobo like Gommu, anyway?"

"Hmm?" Asami put down her long-range camera, turning to Iroh sitting at the driver's seat of his Assassins car (not fair!). "I met him through Korra."

"And… how did the daughter of Chief Tonraq…?"

"Korra sort of ran away? Snuck on a freighter ship and got to Republic City all the way from the South Pole."

" _What_?"

Asami returned to watching the entrance of the office building to hide her smile. "She was only sixteen, too."

"Gutsy", Iroh commented.

"You have no idea", Asami muttered. "She ran into Gommu in the City Park. Uh… something about fishing in the public pond? Gommu ditched her right before the police came and arrested her. Some other stuff happened, she got detained for awhile before Tenzin saved her."

" _Abbot_ Tenzin?"

"One and only. Then Korra stayed with him for awhile until her dad came and hauled her butt back to the South Pole. During those few days, Korra met Bolin and Mako, I hit Mako with my moped and, through him, met Bolin and Korra. Been friends ever since."

"You know, you guys have the making of a _very_ entertaining sitcom."

"Yeah, I know, _right_? Two girls living together, friend with two dudes, one of them dated both girls at some point and the other's a comic relief. Bolin's actually planning to pitch the idea to a producer when he…" Asami made a one-handed air quote. "…'makes it big'."

Iroh laughed. A short laughter, hearty and from the chest. Asami liked that sound.

"Speaking of… you know, Gommu said Yakone is protecting Amon."

"I know", Iroh sighed. "Yakone is my target."

"Seriously?" Asami frowned at Iroh. "Gommu couldn't beat him. I'd have thought they wouldn't sent any operative beyond the rank of Master to… _oh_ …"

"Uh, no", Iroh chuckled at Asami's pointing finger. "I'm not a Master. Yakone's supposed to be my kill to the rank of Master."

"Oh… that's… well, congrats."

"Not yet."

"Yeah, but you've got your ticket. That's something", Asami tried a silly grin. It made Iroh chuckle.

"Got something", Iroh titled his head, listening to his earwig. "They're coming out."

"Crap", Asami said, snapping pictures.

"Yakone", Iroh said, peering through his binoculars.

"Stalk?"

"No. Too risky", he said even as he buckled up. "Yakone would make Black Cross look like a boy scout."

"I thought he _was_ the Black Cross", Asami muttered, checking on her camera shots.

Iroh drove slowly out of the alley, joining the traffic. "So did I, at first. But, no, he's just a sociopath. Remember, no fights."

"Aye aye, sir", Asami kept her eyes trained on the figure down the sidewalk, toes curling and flexing to keep her feet from falling asleep. "Bet you're regretting not letting me drive, huh?"

"Not really", Iroh growled. "If I'm on point and an opportunity presents itself, I wouldn't be able to stay my blade."

Asami frowned but didn't turn away from Yakone. "You trust me that much?"

"You may not know this, but you're a legend among Republic City operatives."

"That's almost a compliment."

"There's nothing _almost_ about it."

Asami smiled and snapped more pictures.

"Traffic's about to die", Iroh warned as the traffic was approaching red light and Yakone was about to turn on the intersection ahead.

"Ready", Asami said, lowering her camera. Waiting.

As Yakone turned made a right at the intersection ahead and Iroh slowed the car to a stop, Asami quickly exited the car and crossed the street smoothly. The other cars didn't even have time to honk.

Heels clonking on the pavement, Asami blended into the pedestrian walk. 9 PM in Kokua, a shopping district, was lively no matter the day. And Asami, in her unzipped jacket and coat, blended right in; she knew how to project privileged and high class no matter what she wore. And she'd had very strong coffee.

Casually tucking errant strand of hair behind her ear, she glanced over her shoulder. Iroh's car was officially stuck in the traffic. That mollified her a bit about her not having been issued a car by the Order.

She refocused her mind on the task ahead. Tall and wide - not pleasantly bearlike, like Korra's dad – Yakone brought to mind words like 'looming' and 'towering', though he wasn't that much taller than everybody else. In fact, if anything, Iroh might had a few inches on him. It was just… his presence, the way Yakone carried himself. It uncomfortably reminded Asami of her dad and how he always stood straight when he was talking to people; a trait that he'd taught Asami, the importance of posture.

Only, of course, on Hiroshi Sato, as some of their close acquaintances had dared commented, that posture would always look very slightly off; it was like his humble beginnings had left some indelible marks that wouldn't go away. Asami looked natural in it, because she was; she was born into riches. Yakone had the 'looming, towering, fear me' equivalent of it. This was a man born into the bloody business. Asami made a mental note to read up on him later; perhaps Iroh had a bio on him.

It gave Asami the chills. Every initiate knew some of the big names – Kuvira, Unalag, Zaheer – but Yakone's was always the boogeyman. For starter, he was not a Templar. He was an outside contractor the Templars brought in to help resolve their issues from time to time. Many speculated that Yakone was the Black Cross – the codename for the mysterious enforcer under the Templars' employ, assigned to eliminate members of their Order who had strayed and, from time to time, to hunt down Assassins. It kinda made sense.

But, regardless of what they knew or they thought they knew, one thing was certain: Yakone was extremely dangerous. Before they set out, Iroh had decided on Feather Step Protocol – a specific protocol for stalking (yes, they had several of those) which mandated that Asami would pull out from the crowd should Yakone even hinted that he knew he was being followed.

So, when Yakone stopped and checked his reflection on the glass window of a clothing store he was passing, Asami casually entered the nearest open establishment, which happened to be a comic book store, and called Iroh on her phone. She didn't wait, heading straight for the counter, picking up a random comic book, and hung up after two rings. She paid, received her purchased, and asked if she could use the bathroom.

She went out the backdoor instead and found herself moments later, hoods up, on the rooftops. She found Yakone in ten seconds, shadowing him from up above. Even from up here, Yakone did not look less dangerous. The man oozed intimidation effortlessly, like a tiger. Or a rabid polar bear.

Following him would be difficult. Asami took out her phone and called Iroh, letting the call get through now. "Birds, following."

 _"Copy that."_

"Need S-Shadow Protocol."

 _"On it."_

Feeling better about her chances now Secret Shadow protocol would be in effect, which would enable her to leave no trace on any of the city security cameras and any public and private surveillance system in the area the Assassins could hack into, Asami continued her tailing of Yakone.

Two blocks ahead, Yakone started to enter the alleyways. He led Asami away from the bustle, the light, and the live of the city. Until he entered the backdoor of a building.

"Losing him. Building, inside, across from me", Asami said to her phone. "Can you track me?"

 _"Yes. I know the place."_

"Should I enter from the front?" Asami suggested. "Blend in?"

 _"No, too conspicuous."_

"Well, should you?"

 _"No. Rendezvous with me."_

-0-0-0-0-0-

"So, why aren't we in the restaurant?" Asami asked, once again manning the camera in Iroh's car, staking out in front of _Salty Bowl's Seaweed Ramen_ (Traditional Southern Water Tribe).

"Because we're us", Iroh scowled at the restaurant across the street. "Fame is both assassins greatest weapon and adversary."

"Oh", Asami's shoulders slumped. "Well, my friends must've seen those pictures, so… I'd say half the city know we're an item? _We_ can get in, maybe?"

Iroh shook his head, still not taking his eyes off the door. "A general and a socialite in a rundown place like that?"

"Hey, I'm not much of a socialite", Asami protested, then frowned. Well, it was true. Maybe.

"Still", Iroh shrugged. "It's unlikely and unlikely is suspicious. Besides, that'd be against Feather Step."

"True", Asami conceded. She sighed. "Must've been easier back in the days, huh? Assassins would just charge in and kill the target."

"And probably die in the process", Iroh noted. "That's a reason why Altair reformed that particular practice. It's a waste of good human resources."

"Oh, yeah. I always forget that part", Asami said. "Still…"

After awhile, watching nothing happen, Asami asked. "Do we have contact in there?"

"Don't know. Yakone's dossier doesn't say anything about him frequenting this place. He's a creature of habit."

"Most underworld muscles are. They feel they are safe, falling into habits and no one dared raise a hand at them. It a show of strength in their part, actually."

And it clicked.

"He's on a job?"

"I hope not", Iroh unbuckled his seatbelt. "Uh… fancy places around here?"

"We're playing 'A to B'?" Asami was already checking her mental map when Iroh nodded. "Art gallery, _Retro_ , at Korkeatown. Umm… two stars restaurant on Makapu Avenue? Ugh, don't remember the name."

"Makapu Avenue."

"Yeah."

"No, the name of the restaurant. _Makapu Avenue_."

"Oh, okay. No parking lots in between though."

"We're slumming it."

"Bus? What about tickets?"

"We paid with cash."

"Got it. Retro to Makapu?"

"Yes. That would cover our lack of receipts."

Asami smiled. "You know, all these duo protocols, it's nice to finally be able to use them."

The corner of Iroh's mouth twitched into a brief smirk.

It was a nice moment. The city had to ruin it by blowing up.

-0-0-0-0-0-

Fire erupted from the restaurant, licking out of the shattered windows. Smoke rose like the tail of an angry genie. Fire truck had arrived, honking its way past gawking idiots who stood around on the street, recording the disaster on their phones or, worse, stopping their cars right in the middle of the street, totally blocking the evacuation process.

Iroh, with a strong moral compass that he had, was out in the street, herding people away and helping the police and firemen clear the way. Asami, perching on top of the building next to the burning restaurant, could hear words like 'get away!', 'move!', 'idiot!' from down there. She trusted Iroh to handle it and crept to the back of the building.

As she suspected, the back was quite fire free. Whatever that explosion was, it wasn't the kitchen. And, strangely enough, the backdoor was closed. Asami couldn't stay up here long; firemen were bound to come up here to hose down the burning building or gawkers might sneak up here for better and up close view. It was easy enough, since Asami had snuck here through the bookstore next door to the restaurant.

She heard ruckus and didn't wait to see what it was. She leaped down the ledge and got down to the ground floor behind the bookstore. And calmly walked across the empty space between the blocks. When she heard the sound of door rattling, she dove behind the nearest dumpster.

The rattle turned into a crash. Yakone had kicked the door open and staggered out, bleeding from the side of his head. He leaned on the wall, coughing, a Sig held in his hand. Asami's right fist tightened, her hidden blade slid out.

He was right there, vulnerable. Perhaps more vulnerable that he had ever gotten in public.

And there was nothing Asami could do. No, nothing. And not because the kill should be Iroh's or they were under strict surveillance only protocol; there was something about Yakone. He was like a wounded bear, more dangerous bloodied and injured.

The only thing that had kept Asami alive this long, while racking a rather impressive list of kills, was her cautious nature, borne of a childhood spent in her father's workshop, helping with his works with the machineries. Her earliest memory was sitting on a stool, watching her father work, soldering metal and fitting bolts and nuts. _"Remember, princess",_ he always said. _"If it looks unsafe, you stay back, get out of the room, and get your daddy"_ , which evolved as she grew to, _"If it looks unsafe, get away as far as you can and wait for the explosion."_

And right here, Yakone was a lit powder keg.

Asami grabbed her right arm; it was trembling and its hidden blade was out. She stilled and willed herself to blend into the shadow, like only Evie Frye purportedly could. Yakone's ragged breath regained its evenness. He pushed away from the wall, slipped his pistol in the waist of his pants, and jogged away. He passed Asami's hiding spot.

Asami let out a shuddered breath two minutes later when Yakone was long gone.

-0-0-0-0-0-

Iroh had not said a word on the ride home. Asami still felt the tingle on her limbs. After awhile, perhaps finally sensing Asami's dark thought, Iroh said. "You did the right thing."

"I could've gotten him", Asami muttered.

"No, you couldn't have."

"Thanks."

Iroh sighed. "I don't mean it like that", he said. "Yakone is extremely dangerous. No Assassin should take him on alone."

"They sent you", Asami failed to stop herself.

Iroh sniffed. "Fire Nation Mentor sent me, not Gommu."

Asami frowned. "Can I ask a question?"

"Sure."

"How strong are we exactly?"

"We? You and me?"

"No, we. Republic chapter", Asami clarified.

"Well, honestly, not as strong as you'd think", Iroh shrugged. "We have good support team in place, we can move quite invisibly within the City, but we don't have enough field operatives. That's why Gommu has always been very careful in his dealing with the Templars."

"We can't afford to lose any man", Asami leaned back on her seat, fighting an urge to draw her legs up and curl into a tight ball. "That's why they sent you after Yakone and Amon? That's why even Gommu declared the likes of them off-limits?"

"Don't sell yourselves short", Iroh stopped at the traffic light ahead. "Republic operatives' skills could put any Fire Nation Assassin to shame. It's just that…" he struggled to find the right words. "You have to understand. Ghost bureau, Asami. The Templars thought Republic Assassins are scattered. I'm not sure if you know this, but in the past decade, we've lost around a dozen Assassins here in Republic City, all of them were loans from Earth Kingdom, Fire Nation, and Water Tribe, posing here as international students, workers, tourists. Why do you think that is?"

Asami felt sick to the stomach.

"If you think Gommu had something to do with it, that he served them up to reserve his own operatives or to keep his ghost bureau, then you don't know you master as well as you should", Iroh said grimly. "The fact is, Republic Assassins are just _that_ good at staying hidden. And, I'm sorry for sounding grim, but the death toll being all foreign operatives, it helps preserve the anonymity. Gommu would be crazy not to take advantage of that; crazy and disrespectful."

"All for the Order", Asami muttered. "Honor to serve."

"Exactly", Iroh said firmly. "However, going on after Templars half-cock is suicide. It doesn't serve the Order. You were right to stay your blade, Asami."

The light turned green and they moved again. Asami felt slightly better. Only slightly.

-0-0-0-0-0-

"Was that a test?" asked Asami two days later, sitting next to Iroh in the couch at her living room. It was weekend and they had just had a successful lunch, paparazzi took some pictures, they'd taken some themselves and posted them too. Their 'relationship' was now a rather well-established gossip.

"What was?" Iroh asked back.

"Yakone."

Iroh showed no other reaction than scanning around with his leering amber eyes. He was always paranoid, like a true Assassin should, despite the fact that he had swept Asami's apartment for electronic bugs days ago. Asami tried not to smirk, she wanted answer.

"Yes", he said, always to the point. "The disadvantage of ghost bureau protocol is…" his voice got lower though, never let his guard down. "…that you really don't know what your fellow operatives are truly capable of, or even how many of them you've got. I've seen you in a fight that night with Gommu and the thing with Yakone showed me that you can obey order and have a good instinct. I need that, you know."

"What am I being tested for?" said Asami right before she lunged into Iroh's startled arms. The front door rattled and Korra walked in, followed by Mako and Bolin.

" _Oh_ ", Korra exclaimed. "Well, this is nice. Now we know why she blew off our weekend lunch tradition. Hi, Iroh."

Iroh exchanged pleasantries while Asami made it look like she was detaching herself from Iroh rather sheepishly. "Wanna go somewhere we could talk?" Asami asked Iroh in a whisper. Iroh gaped a little, eyes darting between Asami who was making her way to her room and the others who were rather open with their teasing. He shrugged, grinning awkwardly, before getting up and following Asami to her room. They locked the door, muffling the others' applause and wolf whistle.

"Lovely, as always", Iroh snickered.

Asami, lying on her side like a temptress from 1940's TV show while _Careless Whisper_ played from her laptop, frowned. "Oh, they're not coming in?" she sat up, tugging down her hitched shirt.

"So, stage one is complete. Now, you're about to show me your stuff?" Iroh sat next to her.

"Yeah", Asami shrugged. "It's in that drawer there, the nightstand", she got up and moved to her walk-in closet. In her closet, she heard the wooden drawer slide and she smirked.

"Uh… Asami?"

"Yes?" she replied, undressing her top.

"I-I, uh, I think you're mistaken. Maybe you mean other drawer?"

In the middle of putting on a tank top, Asami clamped her mouth shut, giggling silently. "Nope, no mistake."

"Are you sure? Because there is only one thing in this drawer."

Pulling her top on, tying her hair in a simple ponytail, Asami stifled a smile. "Yup, that's it, then."

"Asami, it's a dildo."

That cracked her up. She emerged, giggling uncontrollably. Iroh looked both mortified and miffed. "Okay", she cleared her throat. "I'm serious. Bad case scenario, my gear is in here…" she kicked the spring box beneath her mattress. "… and that, too. Secure those two, there's always a backpack in my closet."

Iroh grimaced, seemingly trying to decide if Asami was serious or not.

Asami took pity on him. "It's inside, in the battery compartment. Go check it out."

"Yeah… I don't think any less of you or anything, really, but I'd rather not touch—"

Asami laughed again. "It's never been used that way, you wuss", she said, reaching into the drawer. "I think", she reconsidered. "It's from Korra. A gag gift. She put it in my hand while I was asleep once."

She picked up the offending object and popped the bottom. A small MP3 player dropped into her hand. She handed it to Iroh. The general inspected it, noticing the built-in speaker and recorder. He turned it on, set the volume low, and played it, holding it to his ear. Asami's voice came out of it, sounding breathy and sleepy, and he just knew she recoded this at night when Korra was asleep. Asami was speaking a foreign language in the recordings.

"Mission briefing, each and every one I've taken", Asami said. "For personal use. I know, I know, it's not exactly safe having that, but…" she shrugged. "It helps me think and reflect on them and, let's face it, who's ever gonna think there's something like that hidden inside this?" she waved the optimistically-sized rubber genitalia.

"What language is this?"

"Korkean, southern dialect", she shrugged. "Another security measure. Nobody speaks it this far west."

"Clever", Iroh handed her the device back.

"So", Asami asked as they sat back down. "Wanna tell me what the test is all about?"

Iroh's eyes were fixed on the toy that Asami twirled between her fingers like one would a pen. "Amon", he said. "Dealing with him will inevitably bring Yakone into the picture. Just the two of us wouldn't be enough. We need more manpower."

"I see. It was an audition", Asami narrowed her eyes; she'd stopped twirling. "And here I thought I've made it into the team."

Iroh shrugged and evaded a light whack by the dildo. "Caution", he said, eyeing the dildo wearily. "Can't be too careful, especially against the Equalists and all— you know, _I'm sorry_ , but that thing is simply too unrealistic. No human penis is _that_ big."

Asami could not help but laugh.


End file.
